The Wrath of Tláloc
by Jack E
Summary: Memory is the only way home. PostCotBP AU.
1. Prologue

DISCLAIMER:_ I do not and will never own any of the characters or settings appearing in this chapter. The situation was first (and foremost) conceived by Ted Elliot & Terry Rossio, Jay Wolpert and Stuart Beattie while I just put it to words, bringing it to life as I saw fit. Some of the dialogue can be connected to the first film and, hence, is not mine but was inserted into the story to put connections between my story and the film. Bill's speech on Isla de Muerte is the work of Ted and Terry word for word, taken from Barbossa in one of the first drafts of the script. Except for the poem, it is NOT my own work. (I just decided it fit with the feeling and overall situation.)_

**Author's Note: **This is, as happens with many, my first fanfiction. Should you disagree with something that I have done, I beg that you let on lightly- harsh would can be discouraging. Some may have found this story on other sites and I would also like to note something that I ran out of room to write in the title and the summary- this version is revised. Mistakes have been changed and there are things within the story itself that have changed such as conversations and descriptions but I've also taken the time to change how some things happen as well. Sorry if you liked the original ways, but I came to be displeased with them. Enjoy!

_**Pirates of the Caribbean:**_   
_On the Edge of a Knife, Off the Edge of the Map_

Prologue

Steady trickles of rain from an overcast grey sky were steadily falling from their homes in the sky above and gracing everything they met with their drops of wonderment. They were miracle tears, for they seemed to purge the world of filth, irk and pestilence- cleansing and healing those in need of such things. And now, as they were pattering gently against the mass of dark sails which belonged to the Black Pearl and the windows of her cabin, she was still. Silent.

Her upper deck being empty, one might of guessed she had been abandoned had she not been settled in the middle of the high seas with a man nestled in the crow's nest. No, she was not alone nor abandoned- she was waiting. Waiting for her voyage that she was built to find and endure, to recommence. And her voyage would soon be continuing, in spite of the powerful impression that that was unlikely.

Unrest, quiet, impatience, frustration and even repulsion hung heavily in the air about the crew and their captain. Such feeling that was seemingly tangible smothered the atmosphere, so that those who at one time were unirritated by the circumstances were inevitably consumed by it as well.

_"'Exciting,'_ he said. _'Yeh'll never find a moment to be weary- there'll be no time._' Whadda he call this? _'An adventure_?'" one of the men by the name of Pintel present grunted in a protest.

At this remark there were many grunts of approval, a few laughs amongst the pirates and silent looks of miserable agreement around the galley. Some leaned on the ship's bulkhead, some dozed in hammocks slung sloppily and others made the best of the floor. Pintel was one known for endless complaints and murmurings amongst the crewmen. He never could simply be positive unless he was getting something he wanted or enjoying that something. Such was his good friend, Ragetti, only Pintel was sharper (dear Ragetti oftentimes could be as blunt as the bowl of a spoon). And such were many other crewmen.

Such was Bo'sun, Mallot, Grapple, Jacoby, Twigg, Koehler and especially the first mate,… Barbossa. He was supposed to be an example, one who discouraged such attitudes and grumbling towards the captain but it was something other than that with his case. He _encouraged_ it. And this evening wasn't going much different from the others, except the feelings that were felt previously had been stretched and magnified and Barbossa was the one to blame.

"For Jack Sparrow thinking things through properly is an adventure," he derided unshamefully. More chuckles pattered about and a few sneers of agreement flashed about the compartment

"He's got his head screwed on backwards," Bo'sun grumbled.

"Probably doesn't have a liver," Mallot joked.

"Oh, he does, Mallot, he does," Barbossa assured. "S'just an unusual shade of yellow."

An uproar of laughter burst from the men, being very amused with Barbossa's way of thinking (but also afraid of what he'd do if they didn't laugh at his joke). He never could resist deriding men of authority (when he wanted their position). But they were interrupted from their fun and games with the silent, disappointed sound of the soft clicking of a tongue. Silence fell upon them and all heads turned toward the galley's entrance stairs (except for Ragetti's, who was still giggling loudly and stupidly at the banter- ceasing only after receiving a harsh stab in the ribs from Pintel's elbow).

A tall, dark and generally good-looking man who looked to be at the age of about 25 (when, in truth, he was in his early 30's) stood on the stairs, shaking his head back and forth in disapproval- an expression of mock dissatisfaction and pity on his face.

"Teaching false doctrine to the crew, are we Barbossa? You know it puts Lady Fortune in bad spirits."

"Shut up, Turner. Yeh've got no right to lecture and/or contradict me- _I'm_ first mate, not you."

A smile materialized on the man's face and he swung around the stair rail. "True," he sighed, "But everyman has a say on a pirate ship and if you change that, you'd be changing the code. You're not stupid enough to break the code, are you Barbossa? You know the consequences." He helpfully mimed a slit throat action to jolt the first mate's memory.

Barbossa scowled at this and a few scowled with him. "Aye, I know the code."

"Of course you do. You're a pirate. We're all pirates here- tougher and rougher than normal men! Terrors of the High Seas as a result of what life has had to dish up for us! So, why can't you just be the staunch men I know you are and accept this bit of a rain shower for a while?"

"S'not the weather that bothers us, Bootstrap" Barbossa sneered back and continued, beginning to laugh as he did, "Or did yeh manage teh forget that the good ol' cap'n is having difficulties remembering exactly where we were going?"

To this the crew laughed in something close to an uproar, Ragetti even let out a snort in his titters. Obviously, they were not at all impressed with Jack's attempt at becoming a pirate captain at all, regardless of the fact that he was truly trying his best.

Bill, however, was not at all pleased with this remark. In fact, he was quite angry. "Well, if _you're_ so unimpaired, why don't_ you_ go and find the bloody isle for us?!"

To this the crew fell silent again and unrest filled the air with the silent knowledge that he could not, nor could anyone else aboard the ship. Jack was a brilliant cartographer only a little while before he fastened his young heart to the idea of piracy- and there was none better than he. He could find an island in any ocean of the world with just a handful of hints and instructions due to his special talents and skills- even a cursed isle. Which was exactly what they were headed for: the infamous Isla de Muerte To this mad attempt many people shook their heads and frowned, muttering how it was just a fairy tale or legend, and in many eyes Jack was a mad man. However, when it came to mapmaking and navigation, there was no one better. Hence, if _the Jack Sparrow_ got lost, then only _the Jack Sparrow_ could get himself "unlost."

"Well?" Bill barked after Barbossa hadn't replied. "Go! Get us out of this mess, Signor Perfect!"

"Yeh know very well I can't," Barbossa fumed silently.

Bill grinned maliciously and couldn't resist putting a hand to his ear, pretending he couldn't hear Barbossa properly. "Oh, what?"

"I can't, alright?!"

"Yeah.… Alright." He gave a disgusted smirk as he turned and shouted, "Oh, Pintel! It's your turn to take watch, mate!" while he disappeared noisily up the stairs and up to the main deck, Barbossa throwing him a look of utmost hatred after him as a retaliation for his… embarrassment.

"Stupid blighter," Ragetti mumbled, speaking the thoughts of possibly everyone in the room as he and Pintel got up to take watch. "Thinks he's all great jus' 'cause he ain't been discovered to be one o' us." The only reason they showed Bootstrap Bill _any_ respect was because he could wield a sword better than any other man aboard their ship.

"That's 'cause he ain't," Pintel muttered. "He never was one o' us."

"And neither was Jack, nor will he ever be- he's a loner." Twigg added.

"Nothin' but a hopeful cartographer," Barbossa stated coyly. He stretched his arms and took liberty of an untaken barrel next to him. " I dunno 'bout you fellas, but we've been on this here voyage for some three days and we haven't seen nor heard tell of nothin'! Nothin'! Ha! Not one stinkin' doubloon! Now, if I recall correctly, Jack Sparrow promised us that we'd reach Isla de Muerte in about three or four days. There would be literal mountains of golds, heaps of rubies and diamonds and sapphires, and pools swimming with pearls. _'Piles of silks,'_ he said. _'And valuables and riches beyond any pirates' wildest dreams- the treasures of Cortés himself!'_ Well… I'm lookin' about meself now and I'm sure as not seein' no gold!" he laughed. "No, no earrings with emeralds, no silver- just what we've had since we spent our last plunder: nothin'. A whole lot of nothin'!"

Many grumbled and murmured about this when this point was made and, by now, all were listening in on Barbossa's opinion.

"And, as I'm sure yeh've all noticed, we haven't been sailin' nowhere for 'bout five or six hours now. Why? I'll tell yeh why. He's stallin'. Them honest men, they're easy to figger out, they are and I'll tell you this very minute: Jack Sparrow ain't plannin' on givin' us no gold."

More grumbles were heard scattered about.

"Now, when I sailed with good ol' Blackbeard as a lad, such behavior was untolerated. Yeh make a promise and it's kept or you'd get twenty lashes, yeh did. Now, here we are and our own cap'n has backstabbed us! Tricked us! After guaranteein' we'd be men richer than our imagination can allow us to see or perceive, here we are; trapped in a stuffy ol' boat-"

"Ship," Pintel corrected.

"-ship,- thank you, Pintel- goldless, sleepless, seasick and sick of waiting for our due treasure!"

Several cheered in agreement with this.

"Shall we put up with this any longer, mates?" Barbossa quietly asked with a sly smile after all the cheers had died down.

Mumbled "no"s were heard scattered here and there in response.

"Well then.… I assume s'bout time for a change."

* * *

A soft knock at the door was sounded while Captain Jack Sparrow, bent over a large map and with plume in hand, droned a miserable, "It's open" without looking up from his work. His forehead was pressed on the palm of his left hand as he woefully (and possibly painfully) attempted to work out of his current predicament.

Bill Turner stepped in the room with a small smile gracing his lips. "Did that manage to silence them?"

"No," Jack whined, throwing down his pen and looking mournfully at his ally. "They started yelling all the more louder after you left- what did you say to them, anyways?"

"I just told them to shut up."

"Ah! That would explain it. You said it just like that?"

"Yeah, I guess so.… I also told Pintel to go to watch- it was his turn."

Jack grinned, showing a mouth full of clean white teeth and Bill smiled back in an identical manner. In fact, the two friends looked very similar in appearance: they had similar backgrounds as (assumed) perfectly honest common Englishmen, they were close in age and many of their facial features were the similar. They both had hair that was the same shade of darkest brown and that went down to their shoulders, held back by ribbons (in Jack's case) or rags (in Bill's case) to be kept out of the way. They both had the exact same sparkling yet dark brown eyes that reflected their mood and inner thoughts deeper than any other thing on their bodies. They both had a moustache and goatee gracing their lips and chins. And, of course, they had the same personalities and senses of humor.

Many mistook them for brothers and, in truth, neither Jack nor Bill opposed to such a suggestion. Sometimes going with such ideas proved helpful to hide their true identities. What they really were.…

"Actually, Jack, on a serious note, the crew isn't at all pleased with you right now. In fact, their angry, mate. I mean, if we don't get moving fast I wouldn't be too surprised at all if they skinned you alive then rolled you in sea salt."

"What's your point?"

"You need to recall those bearings, mate, or there'll be trouble for you. Savvy?"

"Yeah. Savvy. But I have news for you, William Turner," Jack stated simply as he stood.

"And what's that?" William folded his arms across his chest, raising his chin with an air of superiority and arrogance, but the laughter in his intensely brown eyes gave him away.

Jack grinned, exaggerating his stupidity as a way to play his good friend's game. "I have just remembered about my pocket that is so secret even _I_ forget about it. And as I feel it, I think I may have found…" he reached in a pocket kept close to his heart (practically literally) and pulled out, "ah! My compass! I wondered where that went. Now, let's see.…" he bent over his map, opened his compass and looked back and forth between the two for a few seconds. "Aha! Here we go! We need to turn …23 degrees to the Nor- no, South. 23 degrees to the South."

Bill stared blankly at Jack for a long while. "…You mean to tell me that we've been stuck at sea for five uneventful and very unhelpful hours, and the whole reason was because you forgot that your compass was in your pocket?"

"…Yeah." He didn't seem in the least ashamed.

Bill slapped his forehead in a manner that suggested he thought Jack was an idiot, but he couldn't help but wonder whether Jack was joking or not. He then regained his composure. "Hm-hm. Shall I signal the crew to make ready to set sail?"

"For now, that'll have to wait. We've been stuck hereon this blasted ocean for a few days now- I think its high time to bust out a few drinks and tell a few good jokes. We need a break."

"Yeah, well I have one thing to say to that."

"And what's that?"

"Actually, two things."

"And what's that?" he repeated.

Bill held up one finger as he counted off what he needed. "Don't tell the crew you lost your compass in your pocket."

"Okay. And?"

"Don't drink too much."

So, they celebrated. For what reason? Well, honestly there was none. But they drank, told wild stories and raised their voices in the most frightful sounding chorus of sea chantey minstrels heard for leagues about. And the rain cleared, the stars shown bright and the torches and lanterns were brought out long before things began to slow down.

"Y'know, Jack," Barbossa slurred a slight bit louder than he intended to as he threw an arm about his captain's shoulder. "Now tha' yeh've figgered out which way's the righ' way again and all tha', …per'aps, it'd be bes' if we prevented such a thing as this from happenin' again?"

To this everyone, even Bill (who was possibly, if you can imagine, the tipsiest of the bunch), grunted their approvals.

"How should that be done, my dear friend?"

"Well," Barbossa sat himself and Jack down on two barrels, "We're pirates, here, all o' us. And we're headin' ou' fer the legend'ry treasure of Cortéz on the dreaded Isla de Muerte, am I correct in tha'?"

"Aye."

"On a pirate's ship, the code states that every man has an equal-"

"Oh!" Bill shot up to the straightest stance he could manage in his state and recited in a slurred manner, "Ev'ry man has an equal vote an' say in everythin'. Every man also had an equal share in the spoils earned, for every man earns his share fair and square when he participates in sailin' the ship and fightin' for the goods," Bill finished lightheartedly with a giggle in his drunken stupor as he uncorked his fourth bottle of rum straight and began to down that rapidly.

Jack just waved him off with his hand, "Thank you, Williamson. Please continue, Borbasso."

"Eh? Oh, righ' Jacques. Well, since ev'ry man 'as an equal share in everythin' that should mean the location of the treasure as well, eh?" he nudged Jack's shoulder with his fist in a friendly manner.

"What're you playin' at?"

"I'm not playin' at anythin'. I'm jus' sayin' it would be bes' if you gave me the bearin's for Isla de Muerte- jus' to play it safe."

"I don' know…."

"Actually, Jack," Bill put in a ridiculous grin plastered on his face and he sounded as if he was trying to hold back a build up of spontaneous laughter, "I thin' t'would be bes' this one time. S'not a bad idea, mate."

"That way, if yeh ferget how to get to the isle again, Barboosie can back yer up," Pintel put in. Ragetti nodded fleetingly in agreement, spilling the rum that missed his bobbing mouth onto his trousers with a loud curse.

"Well… I guess s'a good idea."

"O' course t'is! S'mine, after all!" Barbossa laughed slapping Jack on the back heartily.

"Alright," Jack sighed after a moment of thought. "But I'll be tellin' you in my cabin- don't want the wrong ears catchin' wind of it, savvy?"

Unfortunately for Jack, as he took a swig of his rum was unable to catch the betraying grin that crept its way across Barbossa's face. "Savvy."

Jack was right in the head to think of the idea of the wrong ears catching wind of the bearings to Isla de Muerte. But what poor Jack, poor young, naïve, honest and bloody stupid Jack didn't realize was that the wrongest of ears to let grasp this invaluable knowledge, was the person whom he'd put the most trust in aboard this ship, save his brotherly friend; Bootstrap Bill. And those ears, the bloody damnable ears were about to take hold of this important secret without him realizing it.

* * *

"Alright, what are you up to?"

"Eh?"

"You heard me. I know you're up to somethin', now spill it."

Barbossa simple stared back at Bill blankly for a moment. It suddenly occurred to him that jolly o' Bootstrap Bill hadn't been as lost in alcohol's spell as he had previously supposed. He silently cursed himself. One more blunder like that would be the end of his carefully conceived plans. He had to fix it up. "Nothin'! What made ya think I was up to somethin'?"

Bill raised an eyebrow and waited till the last of the crewmen had disappeared below decks before he continued. "Barbossa, I've worked with and for you for ten years, mate. Whether it was buyin' your guns or sharin' rights with ya on a ship, I've been with ya long enough to recognize when that conniving li'l mind o' yours is being set to work. What're ya doin'?"

Barbossa sighed. "There's no hidin' it from ya, is there Bootstrap?"

Bill just stared back, waiting for Barbossa to begin his explanation.

"Guess not. Here's the deal, mate," Barbossa approached Bill and began to speak in a harsh whisper. "It was an accident, really, but I ran into the cap'n's log yesterday an' I found somethin' in it that wasn't too pretty a thought."

"You read his journal?"

"It fell off o' his desk alright? He forgot to put it away, it fell and, when I picked up, I just saw somethin' that caught me interest, that it did, and I couldn't help but read the rest of the entry. See, … the Cap'n's takin' us all for a ride."

"What?"

"In the entry he said that he wasn't goin' to give us no treasure. He was goin' to use us to find that island we're aheadin' to then, once we're there, he's gonna have certain -er- shall I say _mutinous_ members kill us innocent ones off, then head off with the treasure hisself. Can ye believe that?! I mean, some of us have families we were plannin' on usin' this booty to support. The man's a scheming li'l bastard!"

"I think you're lyin'."

"By my wife an' children, Bootstrap Bill, I swear I'm not!"

Bill sat in silent disbelief for a moment. That was a strange oath. "By your wife and children?"

"Yes."

"…You really read it then?"

"_Yes._"

He still pierced Barbossa with a skeptical eye. "When was this?"

Barbossa gave a hardy laugh, praying that it didn't sound at all awkward. Bill was a very observant and intelligent man. He asked a lot of questions and didn't forget the answers, paying attention to details that no one would originally think at all important to the matter. This was the danger of the situation: if Barbossa made a slip in his answers, the slightest slip then Bill would catch it and all would be lost. "Jus' before our little celebration- after he announced we were goin' to celebrate."

"What were you doin' in the Cap'n's cabin, anyway?"

Curses! Did the man have to be so consummate?! "I, uh… well, you know the duties of First Mate- sometimes the cap'n sends you in to get stuff for him."

"What did he want you to get?"

"Rum."

"We had rum."

"He had a special stash he wanted for hisself."

Bill scratched his head then rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to think things through. "By your wife and children.…" This was a complicated situation. Barbossa could very well be lying, and Bill recognized that as a threat. But what if he was right? What about his wife, Kathrine? His little Will? They needed that money. Of late, supporting his wife and child was a huge strife and struggle. He could use that money more than anyone else he knew aboard the ship. And, what if Barbossa was lying? If he wasn't, then they'd have done the right thing and Bill would get his money. The money would be plentiful and Bill be able to home and spend a few years, if he so desired, with his wife and son. His son.… He was growing up without him. Wouldn't it have been wonderful to watch the rest of the time the boy spent under his roof? To actually be there as his real father should be? And Katherine- gentle Katherine! Oh, how he missed her! Perhaps he would be able to be home in time for the birth of their second child? But if Barbossa was lying….

He would having to stab Jack in the back, trusting Barbossa's word that Jack was going betray him first- he couldn't afford that. He needed that money, this expedition was an all or nothing bet for Bill. And if Barbossa was lying, then he would have unconditionally hurt Jack- double crossed him when Jack had put more faith in him than any other man aboard his ship. The only reason Bill wasn't first mate was because Jack hired Barbossa, captain of another ship called "The Abyss," and his crew to work under him, and Barbossa, being a captain, got the second highest rank on the Black Pearl for this voyage. But perhaps there was an advantage? If he joined forces with Barbossa- or at least appeared to do so- then, he'd his share of the treasure, Barbossa couldn't hurt Bill for betrayal of any sort and Bill could try to fix any damage after he had been separated from Barbossa with his new-found fortune. Perhaps this once he could.… He just needed let Jack know… he would come for him in the end.

Barbossa watched Bill silently, waiting for his reply.

Bill looked at Barbossa, completely stoic. The wind ruffled his hair as a small breeze swept across the ship, lifting the scent of the sea about him once again. He looked up at Barbossa and from somewhere, out of the blue, the thought hit him. Circumstances didn't matter. This was wrong. He didn't want to be a mutineer, disloyalty was one of things he despised most in men. A cold sneer crept into his expression. "No."

"What?" Barbossa seemed to expect an answer quite opposite from that.

"No," Bill repeated more strongly before making his way toward the ship's hatch.

"And why not, Bill?" Barbossa called. "You willing to risk the lives of your wife and child?"

That lit a spark and Bill turned on heel, rage filling his eyes like a flame, hot and damaging. "Jack Sparrow," he spat, "would _never_, under _any_ circumstances harm my family. He's more than that, and you _know _it!"

And now Barbossa, who was throughout this whole moment calm, cool and composed, became angry. His wrath was evident in the manner in which he suddenly drew up his tall figure in a superior stance, dark and wrathful. "I know it. But I wasn't talkin' 'bout ol' Jack Sparrow."

"What do you mean?"

"I have eyes, Bill. And don't mean these, right here," he pointed to his blue and yellow orbs, menacing and ugly to look upon. "I mean men. Men who will go about and keep watch over certain places and things that I feel may come to my advantage in the future. Even certain crew member's homes, if need be." He cooled down and gave another wide and malicious grin.

Bill's anger fled and he paled, although not intentionally. "You don't mean-"

"You know, rumor has it that your wife is really quite charming and pretty, as it were. Be a shame to have to tear her away from the shelter of that fine house you built for her."

"You wouldn't dare-"

"Oh, and that child of yours. Probably a very sweet kid, really. Why, what on earth would happen to the poor thing if his mother and father, let's say, 'disappeared?'"

"Barbossa," Bill growled, his temper rising again toward wrath.

"And the last I saw of yer ol' house, Bill, I must say it truly wasn't meant to be put up in flames."

"You're lying. You're a liar. You're just sayin' all of this to maneuver me into your plot. Well, I won't do it. I won't do it, simple as that. You're just going to have to live with it."

Barbossa leaned in close to Bill and seized him firmly by the cotton vest he donned. "You willing bet your family on that, Bootstrap?"

Bill went silent with terror. This was impossible. He practically had no choice!

"What about you're life? Don' think you're family could get far without ye.…"

That was true. As much as he loathed to succumb to the facts, the truth was as Barbossa said. His family was barely making it with him and his support that he gained from his odd lifestyle. How on earth would they manage without him? And, worse, how could _he_ manage without _them_? They were everything to him. '_Oh, Katherine_.…'

"Well?" Barbossa gave Bill a light shake. He was impatient. The night was growing old and every minute was essential for this plan to work successfully. He took out his pistol and, cocking it and placing it under Bill's stubbornly set jaw. "Have you decided exactly where your loyalties lie?"

Silence. And then Bill eyed Barbossa with bitter disgust. "…What's your plan?"

Barbossa split into a wide smile. "We could use yeh, for this, mate. Welcome aboard!"

* * *

"Jack!"

"Hm? No, go away," Jack grunted in his sleep.

"Jack!!"

"I don't want any."

"JACK!!" Bill burst into the captain's quarters.

"Go away," Jack puled sleepily.

"But Jack, blast it! the island! I can see it from here!"

"What?!" Jack jumped up excitedly. "Alright. Alright, alright. Alright." He flipped on his jacket and his boots. "Alright! Let's go!" he walked out the door, with Bill following close behind, frowning slightly.

"Jack," Bill unexpectedly and quite suddenly reached out and grabbed Jack by the shoulder, a look of concern flickering in his expressive eyes.

Jack volleyed back a look of bemusement. "Hey, William, was wrong?"

Bill looked at Jack for a moment more, his face clouding over with some expression that Jack couldn't read before he cast his gaze downward.

"Bill?"

Bill looked up and gave a somewhat suddenly encouraging smile. "Jack, I just wanted to say that, no matter what happens after this moment, I'm on your side. In fact, I want you to have these as a reminder," he held some strands of worthless beads that they had acquired from an attacker's neck after a fiasco they started in Tortuga, in which Jack got into trouble and was about to beaten on by three big guys and Bill came to his rescue and accidentally spurred a fight throughout the whole tavern while in the process, " that regardless what it appears to be I'll be there for you… one way or another."

Jack cocked an eyebrow at Bill as he took the beads in his hands and looked from them to his friend strangely. "Hey, William Turner, I think Iyou're/I the one who drank too much rum tonight- you feeling okay?"

Bill's eyes flashed with there old charm and he broke into a grin that had been missing in an unusual manner. "Of course, Jack! You know me- just have to worry about every little thing. I'm Stupid Bill, remember?"

Jack laughed a bit at this as he pocketed the beads. "Aye, bloody stupid Bill."

Bill's grinned changed to a fond smile, warm and brotherly before changing the subject. "Hey, let's see that island of yours."

To say that Jack wasn't excited would be a horrible understatement. Wiping the brow of his forehead with a red handkerchief, he took off at a rapid pace past Bill, toward the ship's main deck. "Can you really see it?" he asked excitedly as he opened the cabin door.

"What? Oh, yeah! It's not far off the starboard side."

"Fantastic! Get the men ready to load into the longboats, we-" he broke off at the sight before him. There was no Isla de Muerte for all he could see, but there was his crew, standing before him in a large group, torches in hand, swords and pistols drawn and at the ready, murderous looks and smug grins barely visible in awful moonlight. Barbossa stood at the head, his arms crossed and a cold smirk embellishing his lips. Pintel and Ragetti stood behind him, each with a think rope in hand.

"Evenin' Cap'n," Barbossa greeted quietly.

Jack twitched a quick smile and chuckled nervously. "Heh-heh. Gentlemen.…" He was at a loss for words. He looked about them for a long while before thinking of something to say, just to break the seemingly impenetrable silence that awkwardly took hold of the situation. "What's going on?"

"Well, Jack, as you would have it, we had a little chat while you were in your cabin this afternoon," to this Bill raised his head a little in slight surprise. They had talked about this beforehand? But Barbossa said that he had noticed the journal entry a few hours ago, at a time in the evening _after_ that of when he said they "discussed" this matter.…"And we decided that, for the benefit of the crew, it'd be best if you'd take yer leave of us 'bout now."

"What?"

Barbossa just smirked again. "Gents, get him."

"Wait, stop! Why are you doing this? Please, mates- gentlemen! Please, stop. Bill, help me!"

The pirates swarmed Jack and almost instantly overpowered him, tying his hands up and pushing him about. They slapped him, they laughed at him and the bosun even pushed him to the floor and began kicking him.

"Oh, and thank you, Bill," Barbossa called over the scramble, "Couldn't have pulled it off quite as well, without you!"

Bill stood in the corner, caught in a personal predicament. Barbossa had blackmailed him. It was all a scheme to enlist his help and he didn't stand a chance.… Now here he was. Alone. Standing in the shadows of a corner on a ship in the Caribbean, in the middle of the night, watching. Just standing and watching as his own crew members beat and mocked their captain rudely as a result of his pure shock. His captain, his friend, his brother. 'How _could I have been so stupid?! Jack would never betray me if was put in my position- he just wouldn't! Barbossa is a bloody bastard in the first place, how could I even_ begin _to let him force me into this_?' He flinched as Jack let out a whimper from Bo'sun's beatings. He had done this. _'I didn't even fight, I just gave in. Gave into Barbossa's intimidating power and his sly words.… I betrayed Jack.'_

Barbossa let out a long, pleased laugh And Bill sound found himself glaring coldly at him. "Alright, gents, that's enough! We've had are fun, now let's get the job done!"

They harshly picked Jack up by the arms and pushed him out onto the plank, which had been awaiting him this whole time. He shivered in the cold and now ached horrible every where. It hurt to breathe, his lungs throbbing from the strain they were put through as he had wind repeatedly knocked out of him, and his lip was cut and bleeding. It stung.

Barbossa laughed again at Jack's miserable state. "Jack, Jack," he drawled out and shook his head. "Don't look so sad. Did yeh not notice? There be a little island off shore there, waitin' for yeh!"

Jack turned and saw, surely a moonlit island that was so small a little mansion or large house would take up the whole thing- leaving no land to come with it. He turned and looked back at Barbossa, frowning. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Well, mate, when you hired me as your godforsaken first mate, you forgot one very important thing: I'm the one and only Barbossa."

Jack scowled. "I thought you swore allegiance to me. When I broke you out of that jail cell you promised that you'd never do to me what you had done in your past. You betrayed me."

"Well, that's true…. But then again, what's a promise to a knave like yerself?" Barbossa laughed.

Jack frowned and swallowed. "So, you're just leaving me on that island?"

"Aye, but, o' course, not without a fair chance. Where be Jack's pistol?!" he reached a hand over his shoulder and a pistol was placed into his palm. Barbossa walked up and stuck the gun in Jack's belt, but only after taking one ball and loading the pistol with that one shot. "For good luck," he stated simply with a smile. Jack scowled again and Barbossa laughed, turning Jack around and pushing him towards the plank's end.

"Farewell, Cap'n!" he jeered, drawing his sword. "Don' get too much sun there, mate!"

Jack turned to look back at his crew, who were all jeering and hooting and laughing and pointing. He looked into each one of their faces, until his gaze fell upon Bill. He looked… helpless. His face was twisted into shock and confusion and Jack knew that he didn't mean to part of this. Finally he locked eyes with Barbossa, who was still sneering that same blasted sneer that he'd worn the whole evening. "You'll regret this Barbossa. You'll pay for this!"

Barbossa simply gave Jack a becoming salute and shook the plank, forcing Jack to fall into the water.

"What are you doing?!" Bill's voice broke through the throng and silenced the lot. "You marooned him!"

"Boy he's a sharp one, innit he, lads?" Barbossa laughed and the crew joined in.

Bill marched up to Barbossa, infuriated and wrathful. "You told me you were just going to throw him into the brig!"

Barbossa made a thoughtful face and crossed his arms, "No, actually, I don't think I did. I said that we _might_. But I guess it didn't turn out that way, now did it?" He then laughed at the horrified look upon Bill's face. He should've paid more attention to Barbossa's words- he knew better than to let him trick like that! "Com'on, mates! To Isla de Muerte and gold of Cortéz!"

Jack surfaced as a cheer rose from the ship and, slowly, she began to sail away into the night, never to be seen by him again.

* * *

Since the night of the mutiny, Bootstrap Bill was never really part of the crew anymore. Even though he was first mate, the only times he was actually among the crew, mingling with them, was at the times of giving out Barbossa's orders. Other than that he locked himself. Sometimes he just stood apart from the others and did not speak to them, other times he literally locked himself up in his cabin. However, this did not go unnoticed by Barbossa, he became suspicious of it.

Although he was despised by the dominant amount of the crew, Bootstrap was an influential voice on the ship, unlike any other. In fact, half of the crew members didn't even dare to attempt the mutiny until they knew Bootstrap was in on the plan.… Or at least that's what they were told.

He no longer trusted any of his crew members. Each one appeared as a demon, a monster in his eyes. He wanted them to be punished for their wrong doing. Many of the crew members noticed his isolation and cold ways towards them. When they asked him for the first time why, he replied, "Because … it's wrong with the code." And in truth it was. But honestly, Bill was angry with them for more than that. Jack was a brother to him.

Two days later, the call came out, "Land HO! Land HO!"

Excitement rose amongst all the crew members- even Bill. They had found it. It was real and they were there. The treasure they had been looking forward to for months on end was finally at their fingertips. The lost treasure of Cortéz himself.

They shuffled into the longboats and wound their way through the caves, illuminating their way by the dim lights of their lanterns. Several minutes that felt like hours crept by as slowly as their boats that snuck through the water on which they glided. The air was stuffy and warm in a way that was most uncomfortable. It was close together and made it difficult for the crew members to breathe… or was that the anxiety?

At long last, after minutes that crept by as slowly as days seem to creep to a two year old child awaiting Christmas day, the boats hit a shoreline and everyone stepped out onto dry land. They passed through a quick maze of small tunnels that finally opened up to their destination. A huge cavern stood gaping before them. Stalactites hung from the ceiling, and rocks formed magnificent sculptures of natural beauty. Sunlight streamed in from small openings in the cave's roof and the water collected in pools on the floor caused it to reflect in dancing lights upon the walls and ceilings.

All of this they saw, then they looked about them at a lower scale. There were rocks and rocks and more rocks. They searched about themselves for the glint of gold or perhaps the sparkle of a diamond to lead them to their long awaited treasure. But they saw nothing and began to complain.

"There's no gold!"

"Barbossa you promised us jewels!"

"Where's the treasure gone?!"

"We should've never listened to you, we should never have let Jack go! He probably actually _knew_ where the treasure was!"

"You brought us here for nothing!"

And so their curses arose in anger and despair. They surrounded Barbossa, planning to bring him to his death as consequence for his deceptions, swords and pistols and grapples and all their weapons drawn and ready.

"Gentlemen!" a voice rang out from somewhere far behind and all heads froze and turned to the voice. Only Jack called them by that name. But they could tell by the cold edge that was added to it that it wasn't Jack. Bootstrap Bill stood upon a high hill of rock in the center of a pool of water. His face was contorted in anger and rage. "All of you just shut up! What was done to Jack was done out of your own free will, and killing another will not assess our situation, especially on this isle."

The pirates looked at each other, confused at this stand and throwing questionable glances around while shrugging in return to the muttered questions that batted around them for a few short seconds before Bill continued, " 'Isla de Muerte' is Spanish for 'Isle of Death,' and, for those of you who do not realize why it was given such a name, let me inform you of its history."

Every ear was listening to Bootstrap now, and every eye was fixed upon his face, filled with fury and ire towards his fellow shipmates.

"Back when Cortéz was cutting a great bloody swath through the New World, a high priest gave him all the gold they had with one condition: that he spare the peoples lives. Of course, Cortéz being Cortéz, he didn't." Bill pierced Barbossa with a cold stare as he spoke this last sentence. "He would have made a great pirate, that one."

A heavy, uncomfortable silence poured over to fill in what Bootstraps voice had filled just before. Uneasy glances were cast amongst the men.

"So the priest, with his dying breath, called upon the blood of his people," it was then that Bootstrap turned to his side and walked to what the men now realized was a stone chest. He kicked off the lid, "and put on the gold a curse."

The men swarmed up the hill and gathered round to look at the chest, which was filled with gold coins, skulls engraved into each one of them. They ooed and awed and Pintel even reached out to take a piece, but Bootstrap put his hand out to stop him.

"If anyone took so much as a single piece, as he was compelled by greed, by greed he would be consumed."

The crew murmured on this and looked uneasily on it. At least, they did until a hearty laugh broke through the silence.

"Curse, ay?" Barbossa said skeptically as he pushed his way to the front of the group and looked Bootstrap on the eye. "I hardly believe in ghost stories anymore, Bootstrap, I'm not a child."

"That may be," Bootstrap replied without changing the expression on his face, "but don't say I did not warn you. Don't say _they_ didn't warn you."

"They?"

Bootstrap turned and removed an old piece of paper that was written in Spanish. He translated:

> > _"'Whosoever,  
An he a mortal soul be,  
Shall lift but a single coin from this chest  
Shall be punished for eternity._
>> 
>> _'Neither shalt thou chance to be  
Living nor dead,  
For thou shalt forever live  
Bearing torment upon thy head._
>> 
>> _'Everlasting thirst  
Shall for thee be real,  
As also shall be thy hunger  
And lack of ability to feel._
>> 
>> _'Under clouded skies  
And in the sunlight bright,  
Thy countenance shall discern from  
That betrayed by moonlight._
>> 
>> _'For until of thy gold  
Thou might take part,  
Thou shalt indeed appear  
As the pure greed of thy heart._
>> 
>> _'And thou so longest  
To amend this woe you sense?  
Repay our blood shed in slaughter  
To receive thy recompense."_

Bootstrap looked up at his crew members as he folded the paper and tossed it back into the chest. "Within a day of leaving port for Spain, the treasure ship carrying the gold … something went wrong. The ship ran aground, every man aboard dead, save one. He survived long enough to hide the gold ashore.… Over time, the dark magic of the curse seeped into the place, making it a cursed island. An isle of death. Isla de Muerte."

The men became very uneasy, standing on cursed ground and all, and some began to panic. But Barbossa stood up once again. "Settle down ya bloomin' cockroaches! Settle down!" He turned to Bootstrap. "Bootstrap, mate. That's a wonderful story and, it sure as may work on your poppet and moppet at home, but we're grown men. No ghost story's gonna shake us off our gold, is it mates?"

A few "no"s were heard, but the dominate amount of the group remained silent.

"There! There yeh have it! We'll be takin' the gold, Bootstrap."

Bootstrap just stared back Barbossa for a long while. "You may be a liar, but I'm an honest man and I'm warning you, you'll regret taking this gold."

Barbossa just smirked. "Now, when have I ever lied to you, mate?"

"You swore by your wife and children that you read in Jack's journal that he planned to kill us all. You lied, twice. You never read his log and you don't have a wife and children. You probably can't even bear the thought!"

Barbossa stared back at Bootstrap with a thoughtful look on his face. "Well, if you're so honest, per'aps the curse will go kindly on you. You can take the first piece, mate."

"No."

"Yeh'll be doin' it mate," he cocked his gun and pointed it at Bill's head, many of the men followed his example, "or yer wife will end up a widow."

Bill stared back at Barbossa for a long time, hot hate ever so slightly shimmering in the depths of his abstruse orbs. Then he reached out his hand and took one piece, his gaze never leaving Barbossa's face, and lifted the coin up for Barbossa to see the skull. "One," he said simply.

Barbossa smiled and reached for a hand full of gold, and Bootstrap grabbed his shoulder. "You'll want to be counting those, because before you know it, you'll want to be putting them back. Every last one."

* * *

When the men had made it back to the ship they were plenty pleased. The gold of Isla de Muerte was unique enough that it was bound to be worth more than even Spanish gold coins. Immediately, they set out for Tortuga.

The journey was rough, for the minute they set sail, it stormed unlike anything the men had seen before. The sea herself seemed to have turned her wrath upon them. However, when they arrived in Tortuga it was still cloudy, but no rain nor wind could be felt or seen. The only weather problems were clouds and fog. The men went about the town, spending their money as freely as ever on food, drink and pleasurable company. But not Bill Turner. No, Bill did something no one else did. He received several more coins from "friends" while aboard the ship and spent them on drinks and food until he had spent them all.…Or so he claimed.

An uproar was started at the local pub when one pirate found his food and drink all over his pants and another found himself out of gold and still no less parched than he was before. Many more free-for-alls went, well, up that were so grand and heated, they never were able to be stopped. Tortuga was forever known as a place where men endlessly scuffled for no apparent. But, I digress. Barbossa called a meeting back on board the Black Pearl, where ceaseless complaints were heard and it was finally decided that they should leave Tortuga.

They sailed away and a few weeks passed in which the same problems that were occurring in Tortuga occurred on board the Black Pearl, and a mass of fog seemed to follow the ship wherever she went. They simply couldn't escape it. Then, one night, while the ship remained still in the middle of the high seas, everything went silent and calm. The clouds and fog pulled away and the moon crept from his hiding place to shine his silver and blue beams from his full, round body, onto the unsuspecting ship.

All Hell broke loose. The men looked at each other, at themselves and discovered themselves to be literally the living dead. Skeletons with decayed flesh and tattered clothes hanging from their ominous limbs and eyes agleam in fright and anger from within the midsts of their ugly skulls. They panicked and screamed in fright until Barbossa attempted to calm the crew and assess. And as he did so, he couldn't help but notice- Bootstrap wasn't there.

But he came later, when the a cloud decided to mask the moons rays. And as Bootstrap walked on deck, Barbossa's wrath fell upon him. He backhanded Bill across the face so hard that he sprawled on the floor and caused his lip to split, but no blood fell.

"You knew about this bloody curse all along!"

Bill looked at him, half with disbelief and half with satisfaction at Barbossa's pain.

"Of course I did. I tried to warn you but you were to stupid and arrogant to listen to me! In case you can't remember, you said it was just a ghost story."

Barbossa kicked him hard in the stomach as retaliation. He was a proud man and he was angry. The fact that he was wrong, that none of this- their undying hunger and thrist. their lack of ability to feel _anything_, their ghastly appearances- would have happened if he had just listened _to Bootstrap Bill_ made his blood boil over.

"Why didn't you press harder?!"

"Why didn't you _listen_?!"

"Shut up!" he kicked him again in the kidneys. Then he grabbed him by the hair. "How do we undo the curse?"

Then Bootstrap Bill Turner, he looked Barbossa in the eyes and he laughed. He laughed a long cold laugh then pulled away from his grip and pressed his body against the ship's cabin as the cloud in front of the moon pulled away. "Do you think the consequences of the curse did not fall upon me? Look at me!" And he stepped out of the shadows, revealing himself as an undead fiend. "I took the first piece! What makes you think that slapping me, kicking me, beating me would do anything?! Can you feel this?" He took out his gun and shot Barbossa right through the chest.

Barbossa simply looked down in shock and back up and Bootstrap's smoking pistol, his eyes wide with surprise. "No," he whispered unbelievingly.

Bootstrap cackled as he reloaded his pistol. "Hey, Mallot! Tell me, can you feel this?" He took aim and without any sign of remorse shot Mallot and Mallot just shook his head in a reply, his mouth agape.

Bootstrap gave a hearty laugh again, strong and yet cold to those whom he was laughing at. "Welcome to your Hell, gents. Welcome!"

Now he began to cackle again, when Barbossa grabbed Bootstrap by the collar of his shirt and he pinned him to the mainstay. "How do we undo the curse, Turner?!"

Bill did not reply, his smile fading.

"How do we undo the curse?!" He shook him harshly.

Again, Bill did not reply. Rather, he glared, ferociously with a loathing that Barbossa didn't think could ever exist in a man like William Turner. "Why should I help you?"

"Because!" Barbossa began to get frantic. "Because, if you don't, … if you don't … I'll- I'll hunt every last friend," his voice began to find strength, "every last you hold dear and I'll kill 'em all. Slowly. Painfully. And I'll make you come on that hunt. You'll be there for it all."

To this Bootstrap could not reply and Barbossa now laughed. "Yes, I'll do it, too. I swear by the Holy Bible I will. And I'll keep to my word Turner, you know it." Barbossa smirked smugly at the look on Bootstrap's face and gave a theatrical sigh. "But, …I think we'll be just a tad merciful. After all, yeh did help us find the gold in the first place. You're child's death will be a bit shorter …than your wife's."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, I would. And I suggest, unless you truly would like to find that out fer yerself, you do as I tell yeh- or there'll be consequences."

Bootstrap struggled again inside. He hated this. Every time that he refused to Barbossa's bidding, the people he loved more than anything were put in danger. These men _deserved_ to stay in their awful state after what they did to Jack, but he loved his wife.… He couldn't bear the thought of her being.…

"All of you deserve to be curse and _remain_ cursed after what you did to Jack. But alright, … I'll tell ya."

"Good," Barbossa sing-songed and tightened his grip on Bill, as if to squeeze the truth out of him.

"You… you need to collect all the coins and put them back again."

"That's it?"

"…Yes."

"Very good."

* * *

The sun rose and the mist returned, putting the men in their normal visages. Light grey clouds blanketed the sky as Barbossa approached Bootstrap, with a rope in his hand and a smirk on his cold face.

A somber mood filled the air as he looped the rope through Bill's bootstraps, around his ankles and finally several times around a canon. The movements of his hands seemed to pace in slow motion as he began to tie off the knot.

Bootstrap just stared, silently and emotionlessly off into the distance, his eyes cold and empty with his hands bound roughly together behind his back.

Barbossa stepped back from his first mate as he finished his knot, with a cold sneer pressed upon his disgusting face. He turned to Pintel and Ragetti and gave a nod. They looked at each other from the corners of their eyes, smirked and slowly began to push the canon toward the ship's edge. It hit the water with a splash that seemed to echo in their ears for hours thereafter and the sight they saw as they leaned over the edge haunted their nightmares for years to come.

_Ol' Bootstrap Bill _…_we knew him. Never sat well with Bootstrap what we did to Jack Sparrow, with the mutiny and all. He said it wasn't right with the code, that's why he sent off a piece of the treasure to you as it were. He said we deserved to be cursed_…_ and remain cursed_…. _But as you can imagine, that didn't sit too well with the Captain.…So, what the Captain did, he strapped a cannon to Bootstraps' bootstraps. The last we saw of ol' Bill Turner , he was sinking to the crushing black oblivion of Davy Jones' Locker_.…


	2. Misfortunes

**Chapter 1**  
_"Misfortunes"_

Never make a woman angry.

"Where is he?! I'll cut bloody his head off!!"

Especially Anamaria. That was a lesson that most of the men in Tortuga learned very quickly, but Jack Sparrow… he was a bit slow on the uptake of that one.

"Now, Anamaria, I'm sure he ne'er intended- well, maybe he _did_- but you should give 'im a break for once, yeh know what I mean? S'good luck."

"Give him a break?! GIVE HIM A BREAK?! No, NO! I AM BEYOND GIVING HIM A BREAK! THE ONLY BREAK I'LL GIVE HIM IS A BREAK TO BOTH HIS LEGS- THAT TWO FACED SCHWEG-BELLIED RAT! Why, I outta-"

Cotton's parrot gave a squawk as it fluffed its feathers. "Hard to starboard!"

"Yeh know Cotton, yer right!" Gibbs announced "Why don't we go after 'im?"

"Because there are marines everywhere! We'd be caught before we lowered anchor!" No-name put in, looking up from his three-foot height. "He's mad to walk right in there without an invitation!"

Gibbs chuckled and shook his head, "Aye, s'bad luck to go to a gatherin' of any sort, at that, without an invitation. But Jack, he wasn't uninvited."

The men looked over at Anamaria as she threw a chair overboard in her anger. She looked like she was ready to tear her hair out.

* * *

Will Turner dozed softly in his bed, the sun's warmth tickling his nose from the nearby open window. He appeared absent of any cares in the world and in a delicate state of mind, breathing softly to the slow rhythm of his heartbeat. His cheeks were rosy with the sun's kiss and appeared possibly fragile in his state of mind. But that was short-lived.  
_  
Knock, knock, knock._ He stirred in his half-asleep state, taking no note of the caller at his door. They could wait. He was tired and wanted to continue sleeping.  
_  
Knock, knock, knock!_ His wooden door sang again and he opened one eye, looking at it with contempt. It looked so far away, down the hall and across the forge, and his bed was so soft, the sun so warm- why would he want to leave it?  
_  
Knock. Knock. Knock._ This time the beckons were slow but very firm. He closed his eyes and decided that if he just ignored his caller that they would go away and leave him alone for the time being. He yawned and rolled over lazily, clutching his pillow close to his chest and intending to fall back into an unbreakable sleep.

"William Turner, if you don't open the door right now, I'm gonna have to climb in this here window. Don' get angry at me if I do so- you're the one not openin' the door!"  
Will jumped to his feet, accidentally banging his head on the low ceiling that hung just above his bed. He most definitely did not expect his caller to appear at his bedside window. He held his head and groaned in agony as he tried to shake it off.

"Well, it, serves you right, you li'l scamp! Now let me in!"

Will knew that voice. He looked up and groaned, "Jack…. Hold on, I'll let you in."

"Good," Jack nodded back and he disappeared from Will's view.

The young blacksmith rubbed his head vigorously once more before stumbling to the door and holding it open for Jack to enter.

"Thanks very much," Jack obliged as he strutted in the room, shoving into Will's hand a particularly strong smelling half-drunken bottle of rum.

Will held this up and looked at, bewildered and threw Jack an even more bewildered look as he shut his door.

"What are you all dressed up for?" 'Dressed up' meaning his hair was actually combed and his face washed to an almost decent appearance.

"Camouflage," Jack replied as he turned and smiled a tight-lipped yet friendly smile. "Yeh know, if yeh don' want that, I'll have it."

Will looked down at the rum bottle, made a disgusted face and held it out for Jack to take.

Naturally, he did. And he took liberty of the chair that Mr. Brown loved so dearly, setting his feet up on a small table that currently was situated beside him and taking a sip of the beverage as he looked about the room and Will looked at him, confused by all means.

"Jack?"

"Wha'?" he asked, before taking another big swig of rum.

"What are you doing here?"

Jack raised his eyebrows in surprise whilst in mid-drink, then held up a finger as sign for Will to wait a moment. Lowering the bottle from his lips, he puffed up his cheeks and began sloshing the drink around his mouth, back and forth, staring at the ceiling as he did so, checking his nails and such. Will raised an eyebrow when Jack tipped his head back and began to gargle the liquid loudly. He then shut his mouth leaned forward again and puffed up his cheeks and began sloshing the drink around his mouth, back and forth-

"For heaven's sake, man, will you just swallow the blasted drink!"

Jack raised his eyebrows again in mock surprise, then finally swallowed his drink with a large gulp. He smacked his lips and looked about himself in a satisfied manner.

"Well?" Will asked in a rather pushy.

"Well wha'?"

"Aren't you going to answer me?"

"Ah, yes.…What was the question, again?"

Will rolled his eyes heavenward and sighed before repeating himself. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh! Just dropped by to see you."

Will smirked at this and sat down on the opposite end of the table, running his fingers through tousled his hair in frustration. If the commodore or any other militia officer found out about this, he and Jack would be arrested and possibly hung at the square. Will got a clemency last time, yes, but the governor could only do so much for him. And Will being Will, realized that without the need to ask or be told.

"That's a bit of a risky business," Will joked lightly.

"Oh no, not at all!" Jack said calmly, examining the nails of his left hand once again, his right hand loosely clinging to the bottle placed on the table before him.

"Why not?" Will asked, laying his head on the table in, thinking Jack was just being overconfident again.

"I have a pardon."

"Yeah, right."

"No, really."

Will looked back up as Jack pulled a piece of paper out of his pouch and handed it to him.

"Can you read it?"

"Of course I can read it, you idiot!"

Jack shifted in his seat and made a disgusted face and held up his hands in a defensive position. "Well, sorry! No need to get angry!"

Will frowned and rolled his eyes heaven in exasperation at himself and sighed. "I'm sorry, Jack." For a second time he ran his fingers through his dark tresses as he stood and wandered over to his anvil, leaning on it with his palms pressed downward. Jack watched his figure, carefully noting the quick flicker of frustration the boy's eyes before they turned distant and thoughtful. Of late, Will had been working far harder than what he was accustomed to. Recently Commodore Norrington had ordered an rather large order of swords to be made in a fairly short amount of time. Will had only been able to retire to bed a few hours ago, and the fatigue was putting him in a mood that wasn't exactly Jack Sparrow friendly.

Jack didn't know this, but he was observant enough to note the lack of luster in the way Will carried himself this morning. Will was good kid. Stupid, but good. A year ago the boy had risked his life to save Jack from the hangman's noose. It wasn't entirely successful, but with a bit of good luck, some Elizabeth Swann charm and Jack Sparrow savvy, he was able to escape. But none of it would have happened if Will hadn't pulled the most unexpected stunt of his life and attempt to free Jack and escape with him. Jack owed him.

Releasing yet another sigh, Will rubbed his head as he ran over the words quickly three times before tossing the paper back to Jack. "I don't know how you did it." Sure enough, it looked authentic. It was signed by the commodore and everything.

"Well, you're forgettin' one very important thing mate," Jack stated, his left index finger uplifted in the air.

"That you're Captain Jack Sparrow?"

"No."

"And then what is it?" Will cocked an eyebrow and leaned over the anvil on his forearms, lacing his fingers together.

"That your bonnie lass can get anythin' she wants from the commodore or her father if she jus' pouts those pretty lips of hers and bats those long eyelashes."

Of course! Elizabeth would be one to ask a pirate to come to her own wedding. To this Will gave a hearty laugh and shook his head. "You have no idea.… It works on me too, you know."

"Ah, yes! How could I possibly forget?"

Will flashed a toothy grin of straight, white teeth. "She did it yesterday. Made me put aside my work and 'kidnaped.' " He smiled changed to something warm and contented as his eyes turned distant, recalling the fond memory. "We had a wonderful time.…"  
"Yeah," Jack sighed, as if he knew, "… s'too bad yer a eunuch."

Will took a hammer and playfully lifted it, as if to throw it at Jack. His face was serious, but his eyes sparkled and betrayed his intentions. Jack flinched nonetheless and, chuckling slightly, Will fingered his hammer thoughtfully before putting it back where it belonged on his rack.

Jack stood suddenly, "You know what?"

"What?"

"You look a lot like your father. Have I told you that?"

Will gave a tightlipped smile, his eyes shining at the thought. "Many times, Jack. Many times. Jack nodded in response.

"S'only temporary," Jack informed as he held up and pocketed the paper. "For today only."

"Why, what's so important about today?"

"Oh nothing. S'only your wedding," Jack muttered quietly.

Will breathed a small chuckle at this. "Very funny Jack. I'm not going to fall for that one!"

"Wha', you don't believe me?"

"No."

"Fine," Jack shrugged it off as he jammed a cork into the lid of his bottle of rum. "If you want to believe that, you can. But, may I ask you to turn around and take a look at that calendar behind you?"

Will did and cursing aloud as his settled on it, he disappeared to his room and reappeared, frantically putting on his shoes, tying his hair back and throwing a jacket on.

"Why didn't you say anything before?"

"I did."

"I meant before that!"

"Well, don' blame me- s'_your_ weddin'!"

"Yeah, I know! But I thought that it was Tuesday!"

Jack cocked an eyebrow at this. To lose track of time in such a way was unlike Will. He needed to know the date to fulfill orders on time. "Whatever, let's just go, ay? If you don't get there soon, you'll be a dead man by your own bride's hands, savvy?"

"Yeah, I kind of figured that out on my own. Can we go now?!"

"That we may, my young friend, that we may."

And they stepped out the door, Will taking down off down the road that lead to the Swann mansion as fast his legs could carry him with Jack lazily trailing behind.

* * *

Will burst through the mansion doors without a thought of what anyone might of thought of him. His hair was now very disheveled, beads of sweat form on his brow and his bosom heaving in a mad attempt to sustain his body with the air he so desperately needed after a run like that. The governor appeared almost immediately at the door to greet him- if that's the word you'd use.

"Where have you been, boy? You are an hour late!"

"I know," Will gasped between rapid breaths, "I apologize, Governor. I assumed that yesterday was a dream and that today was still several days away-"

"Well, it happens to the best of us. Now, let's get you dressed! James -er, sorry- _Commodore Norrington_ will lead you to your room. Let's hurry now!"

Will looked at the governor with an almost dazed expression. His face was now flushed as his body temperature rose and head began to spins from his madly beating heart. "Yes, sir."

"And Mister Sparrow?"

"_Captain,_ Governor. _Captain,_ if you please," Jack was just walking in the door, quite casually. He had run most of the way but decided to slow down as they reached the mansion gate, nursing his rum bottle as he went. Will noted how sober he had managed to stay during this visit.

"Apologies. _Captain_ Sparrow if you would please stay away from the kitchen? Thank you."

Will was out of breath, as he had ran all the way up to the manor. The Swann Mansion was in chaos. People running to and fro getting last minute things ready, and (in Will's case) running to keep up with the schedule. Jack followed Will and the commodore in a huff, cursing as they went up to where Will was to change into his bridegroom attire about being banned from the location of the food.

"This way, Mr. Turner," Norrington called as he turned from the flight of stairs and began down a hallway.

"Coming!" Will responded, dodging a maid with a bewildered look as she bolted past him with a silver platter in hand. There was another delay when Will, looking around him, noticed that Jack had disappeared. Turning around and walking into the last room they passed, Will soon emerged again from the quarters dragging Jack out be his coat collar after having had to separate him with a rather valuable vase that the Swanns had acquired from Asia.

He was lead to a nice, large bedroom where three servants stood awaiting him.

"There he is!" one exclaimed and they swarmed Will in a flash, removing his ragged coat and leading him behind the dressing screen at a madly fast pace.

"Whoa!" Jack didn't exactly expect that stampede. He quickly shrugged it off and then took advantage of the very soft bed on the other side of the room. "Now, I must admit to one thing before we continue any further: I can't stand it if these things are long and formal at the church stage, so if we could just make it a wee bit shorter-"

"Mr. Sparrow, that it is not in your authority to ask nor determine. Now, will you please shut up?" the commodore snapped.

"Well! Will did you hear how he's treatin' me?!"

"Yeah, good show, James!" Will applauded sarcastically while peeking out from behind the dressing screen and trying to wriggle his arm out of his old shirt at the same time.

"Perhaps you could get him to go feed my donkey down at the shop too, eh?"

"That's not funny," Jack growled.

"Mr. Turner, please stand up straight."

He did so and sighed as one of the servants held up his shirt, ready to put it on. "You know what? I can do this myself. If I need you, I'll ask. Alright? Please leave."

Servants froze in mid-action and gave him a quizzical look. Will winced. Surely, the rich were not accustomed to dressing themselves for these occasions.

"_Please_?" he repeated in a stressed manner.

After exchanging bemused looks at one another, they shrugged and left the room, closing the door behind them, and Will proceeded to dress himself. "Where's Elizabeth?"

"She's getting ready in another room," the commodore replied casually.

"_Which _room?" Will asked, slightly exasperated.

"That is not your concern," Norrington pressed.

"Besides, yer not allowed to see her yet," Jack put in. "…Gibbs says s'bad luck."

"Yeah, well, I'm getting tired of what hearing what's good luck and what's bad luck," Will grumbled as he stepped out from the screen, finishing the buttoning of his crisp new shirt.

"And _I'm_ gettin' tired of waitin' here while you get all spruced up. Now, if you don' mind, I think I'll be lookin' around downtown for a proper drink."

"What happened to the one you had?"

"You made me drop it in that one room," Jack sighed casually as he strode out of the room, ignoring the loud, "_What_?!" that escaped Will's mouth and followed Jack out the door. He stood just outside the door and looked to his left and right several times. Which way did he come from? He decided to try the left. He hated these mansions- always so hard to navigate through. Every floor was the same, almost every _room_ was the same. All you had to do to get lost, was forget to count doors along the way.  
Jack decided to peek into some of the rooms (perhaps there was something of value around here?). He began opening a door and looking around the room, then shutting it and moving on to the next one. They were all bedrooms of some sort. This one was red, this one was blue, this one was…n't a bedroom, it was a study.

He was on his fifth door when he reached for the doorknob and the door opened itself. He looked up to find himself staring into the face of a very attractive young woman wrapped in a dressing gown.

"Oh! Hello, Jack. You look decent for a change. What are you doing?"

"Ah! Well, I was- er- just-"

"Curious, were you?"

"Sort of. Yeah."

She grinned, "Did Will send you to spy on me?"

"Will? Of course not, Elizabeth! He's too stupid to think up such a thing up!"

"Or, perhaps, too honest?" she looked at him and gave a small laugh at his thoughtful expression. Jack hated to admit it, but Elizabeth Swann could probably send him in a few circles with that mind of hers. Blasted woman. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to find Estella," she made to walk pass him.

"You know, Elizabeth," Jack said, placing himself in her path, "you don't have to go through with this."

She began to look indignant. "What-"

"I mean, I know I told you that it wouldn't have worked for us, but …you know, we could try."

She threw him a disgusted look and slapped him smartly across the face then, closing the door with a snap behind her, passed him by and disappeared down a flight of stairs.

"Fine," Jack grumbled to himself. "Choose the bloody eunuch. S'not like he can give you anythin'.…"

He made for the stairs but was jerked to a stop. He looked back and found that the tail of his coat was caught in the door. Cursing with some foul language under his breath, he yanked at his coat ferociously, pulling it out and made his way to the stairs. He wandered down them until he found himself in the foyer once again. He casually walked out the door and down the road to the main streets of Port Royal, looking at the shops, trying to find a proper drink in the town.

The tanner's, the blacksmith's (empty, of course), the jewelers, the cooper's… was there not a proper pub in this place?! Jack was considering asking someone when he heard it:

Truth? Yes, there was. But those "disgusting sties" (as Will so affectionately called them) were located on the other side of the town. Jack began to realize this more and more with every step he took and, after finally taking many long minutes of wandering, he decided that it was high time to return to the mansion. At this rate, he'd be getting drinks after they'd served the ones at the party.

* * *

Will couldn't have been more nervous in all his life. Forget butterflies, he had rabid grasshoppers in his stomach and Jack was just kicking himself with delight from tormenting his young friend.

"If you feel the need to throw up," Jack spoke informatively, "make sure it's toward the commodore." He made a wide gesture with his arms in Norrington's direction.

Will frowned and shifted his weight nervously. "Jack, that's not funny."

"I think it is."

Will's frown deepened. He wasn't in the mood for being argumentive anymore. He just wanted to have this over with. Truly, the emotions he was feeling at the moment were the strangest he'd ever experienced. He was happy but at the same time contrite- where that feeling came from, he couldn't figure out at all. He was eager and ready to go forward. The excitement was coursing through him like an electric energy and felt the need to let it all out in some way or another. But with that energy there was a strange nervousness and almost _fear_ mingled in his veins. A million "what if"s began coursing through his brain, becoming a little more ridiculous as time passed. His brain was a torrent of awful thoughts and ridicules of himself: _'What if she changed her mind and says_" _no_?"_What if Jack does something stupid and the whole thing comes crashing down_? _What if her father suddenly opposes_? … _Who am I kidding_? _The whole of Port Royal opposes- we're never going to get this over with_! _And who's to say that this will all work out_? _What if she wants to leave me because I'm not proper enough for her_? _What if she wants to leave because I'm boring- not the pirate she wanted_? _Wait-- did she want the pirate or the blacksmith_?! _She never told me_!' And so on and so forth.

William Turner, as many people know, wears all of his thoughts and expressions clearly on his face. People can read him like a book and he won't even realize it. Needless to say, Will's anxiety did not go unnoticed by our dear captain. In fact, Jack took a turn for a moment. As he saw Will, his face contorted in anxious expressions, his eyes whirling with hundreds of injurious thoughts at one time, Jack pitied Will. He'd never seen him like this. When Barbossa held a knife to his throat, Will didn't even flinch with fear. Rather, he was indignant. He was standing at death's door and didn't appear to be frightened in the least.

'_This is one unusual kid_,' Jack couldn't help but think. _'He can handle fightin' undead pirate skeletons and the idea of havin' his throat slit open an' then bein' left to die, but he_ can't _handle waitin' to recite a few vows, put a ring on his bonny lass' finger and then kiss her and be done with the whole ordeal_.…' The thought puzzled Jack, to say in the least. To the point that he thought he should try and help correct it.

"Oh, com'on, mate! Pull yerself together!" Jack said, gripping Will firmly by the shoulders. "This is yer weddin' day! You should be wettin' yerself with relish!"

Will raised an eyebrow at this strange remark.

"Okay, maybe not actually _wettin_' yerself. Perhaps more or less _almost_ wettin' yerself with… delight. Yes, I think that's it. Delight."

Will's amused look soon morphed back to a frown as soon as Jack ceased talking, his mind reeling again.

'_Bloody 'ell_!' Jack couldn't help but think in frustration. '_He's_ _tenser than Gibbs on a ship ran by women_!' "Com'on, Will. A smile. Lesee a smile, ay?" Jack gave a big, encouraging smile himself.

Will glared at Jack for a moment, then, seeing both his grin and what he was trying to do, managed to tug a small smile for his sake.

"There's a good lad!" Jack praised gleefully, slapping Will on the back a bit too hard.

"Ow."

"Sorry."

"Alright, gentlemen," Governor Swann approached them, beaming. "William, you look wonderful! Now it's about to begin. Will, you know what to do, and Mr. Sparrow-"

"_Captain_-" Will heard Jack mutter under his breath.

"-if you could just come sit right here, that would be marvelous. Now, she'll come through that door and- honestly, William, you needn't look so alarmed, smile!- she'll come through that door and we'll continue as we rehearsed yesterday. Alright? Brilliant! See you in a few minutes then, shall I?" he quickly walked away.

Jack took his seat and, looking up at the ceiling, he decided that he didn't appreciate the view and moved back one seat, nodding in satisfaction. He smiled as he recalled the last time he was in a church. He was asked to give a seminar (as he was posing as a real clergy) and, well, … let's just say that the result wasn't as spiritual as many would have liked.

He looked about him and noticed an old man, snoring loudly as he slept, sitting up. Oh, heavens, the opportunity was just calling him. He looked up at Will, who, noticing Jack's eager expression, gave him a warning look. Jack frowned back a beg. Will simply shot Jack one final glare before he averted his gaze to elsewhere. Jack held back a giggle as he looked about the objects that were about him. His eyes fell on a small book. He plucked it off the shelf and, looking skimming through the pages, found that it was a book full of prayers.

'_Bloody 'ell_.' Jack couldn't remember the last time he had said one of those.… In fact, he didn't think he ever did! He tore a corner from the book with a shimmer of guilt, rolled the paper into a ball and, taking careful aim, flicked it at the man.

An explosion of coughs occurred. "A bug!" the man rasped. "I think I swallowed a bug!"

Jack immediately cast his gaze upward, his arms outstretched upon the back of the church bench, looking as casual as he could above the loud coughs the gentleman was emitting. His innocent façade was saw through, however , and Will pressed a hand to his forehead as muttered a word of frustration under his breath. The commodore placed a hand on his shoulder as an act of sympathy and gave Jack a cold glare at the same time. The commodore was still not at all fond of Jack. He hated the idea of Jack being in the same room as him and that the room didn't have bars separating the two- with Jack on the less fortunate side. True, the pirate captain had helped Mr. Turner in saving Miss Swann from Barbossa's clutches, but pirates are and always will be pirates, and for that reason, Commodore Norrington couldn't help but keep a wary eye on Jack Sparrow.

Jack, on the other hand, couldn't help but think what a stiff he thought the commodore was. He couldn't just let the past go or give Jack one more chance. He always would be Mr. Pirates-are-evil-and-I-must-kill-them. Fun sucker. Didn't even like rum. Suddenly the organ sounded and the audience turned to face the back of the church. The doors opened and Will felt his heart skip a beat.

He caught his breath as he laid his eyes upon Elizabeth, scarcely expiring her name, and the first true smile of the morning spreading wide across his face. She looked … indescribably enchanting. Her dress complimented her figure most pleasingly, with a wide neck and long skirt, spreading from a v-shaped waistline. The white dress was embroidered with a gorgeous design of silver roses and elaborate lacing adorning the front of her bodice. White lace trimmed the hem, collar and graced her sleeves giving her a look that reminded Will of an angelic being. Matching silver earrings and a necklace were placed on her neck and ears. Her hair was held up elegantly, allowing two softly glowing curls of gold to fall free in front of her ears in gentle tresses of silk.

She smiled and blushed a light shade of pink. Will looked different in clothes that were actually clean and possibly expensive. He reminded her of some Shakespearean hero, like Orlando, Bernardo or Benedict- so noble, so handsome and his smile completed his appearance. His coat make of satin and it was the purest white trimmed at the collar and sleeve cuffs with a silver design of small flowers to compliment Elizabeth's dress. His vest and breeches were a silver material, his stockings white and brand new silver shoes to top it off. Elizabeth's father had outdone himself to make this event perfect- even dressing Will impeccably. The thought made her smile. Will's "white" shirts had previously always been something that he could afford on his own accord and, hence, were somewhat of an off-white color.

She took her father's arm, and the ceremony began, which meant that Jack knew that he would be bored beyond all reason for the next half an hour_ at least_. _'Maybe I should take a nap_?'

After what felt like was an eternity (Jack could feel his eyelids beginning to droop, leastways), she made it down the isle. Governor Swann, after kissing his daughter ever so lovingly on the cheek, took her hand and placed it firmly in Will's. The couple beamed at her father and then, as he stepped away, they turned to continue with the service.

"Nervous?" he whispered gently.

She smiled back her reply: yes. Will grinned back. He didn't know why, but the moment his eyes fell upon Elizabeth all sense of anxiety and rabid grasshoppers were extinguished. His eyes had locked with hers for a moment and in that instant, courage took hold of him and he was all the more eager and determined to have this done.  
The priest smiled at the couple and, opening his book he asked silently, "Ready?"

They nodded.

"Right.… We-"

He was interrupted by an exceptionally loud sneeze. The whole assembly turned to look at Jack who grinned and waved his hand, "Don' mind me! Just had a tickle in the nose there! Sorry, please do continue."

Will sent him a look that read, '_Cut it out_!' quite clearly and turned back to continue with the ceremony. Jack rolled his eyes in reply. A minute ago, Will would have welcome the delays in his jittery state. Now he expected Jack to just sit here and act, well, _normal_?! Unheard of! But, as he gave a sigh, Jack decided just this once he'd at least attempt it- for the kid.

The priest smiled and opened his mouth to continue- er- _start_ the wedding. "-"

"Jack Sparrow!!!" an angry female voice could be heard from outside the church.

Will felt his blood run cold and Jack crouched low in his seat. '_Please no_,' they both thought, though they did not realize their thoughts were unified. Both would have suspected the other had set this all up to ruin the other's day. Elizabeth looked at Will and gave him a bewildered look. He smiled sheepishly, not exactly sure what to say on the matter.

The doors bursted open and Anamaria stormed in, angry as ever. "Jack Sparrow, I know you're in here! Come out this instant you cold blooded coward!"

All heads turned towards Jack for an explanation once again. He looked awkward at first but then put his hands in the air as a sign of innocence. "Don' look at me, I have no idea wha's goin' on!"

"Oh, yes you do!" Anamaria snarled marching up to his row, reaching out and grabbing him by the ear. "Never again!" She yanked him out on the isle. "You're coming with me!" And she began to lead him out of the church with him mumbling, "Ow, ow, ouch, ow," as they went, horrified whispers following them.

'_Good heavens_!_ Inside the Lord's house, too_!'

'_I've never seen such unladylike behavior_!'

'_I _knew_ that pirate was no good- attracts the strangest people to town_._ You remember last year_?'

'_What's happening I can't see_!'

'_Be quite, George_.'

She shut the doors behind her and was gone just as quickly as she came. Everyone sat (or stood) staring at the doors, half expecting Jack to emerge laughing and slapping his knee at how well his joke went. But he never came and everyone eventually turned back around to face the front of the chapel and silently place the blame on Will. He shrunk a back a bit at the gazes he was receiving. Poor Will! How much did he wish to shrink into his coat and hide until everyone just went away! Elizabeth took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"Continue without him," Norrington muttered quietly to the priest.

And they would have, except that Anamaria's loud yet muffled berates came streaming from outside with muffled (and nevertheless distinct) "ow"s heard every here and there.  
Elizabeth bit her bottom lip to keep from giggling. To her, the whole thing was quite comical. But Will could feel the eyes of everyone in the chapel glued to his back. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood with the tension. After this, he'd be the scapegoat of every gentry in the town. It had to fixed.

"No," he said. "Wait just _one_ more minute. I'll be _right_ back, I promise. I apologize for the disruptions, I'll back _right_ away! Excuse me." He stepped out of the church quickly and quietly making a mental note to let Anamaria kill Jack after the matrimony.

* * *

Eventually, yes, he did return and it was, in truth, quite quickly. The wedding continued and Will and Elizabeth were able to seal their vows of wedlock with a kiss. The crowd applauded, and Jack was an unusual sight to see, standing in the front row with his fresh black eye and nervous glance at Anamaria- who was staring knives at him from the end of the row. He risked a longer look at her and jumped at the evil look in her eyes.

"_I'm gonna kill you_!" she mouthed widely.

Jack flinched. "_Why_?" he mouthed back.

"_You stole my boat- again_!"

Jack frowned. He'd explain the situation better later.

However he shook off the attention he received for his new "injury" by pretending he didn't have it. When asked whether Will or Anamaria had managed to give him the mark, he simply asked, "What mark?" It worked to some extent, but, over all, it just confirmed in people's minds what they already thought of Jack: he was strange.

The celebration went on for hours and Jack had to admit that this part more than made up for his past weariness of the situation. As he had noted many times before on the subject of weddings, there were drinks all around. That made him more thancontent.

He felt compensated in his long-awaited insobriety. Will had gone so far to make sure that were at least a few bottles of rum to give Jack so he wouldn't have to put up with just wine the whole time- but, honestly, even it wasn't rum, Jack would be happy to some point with any alcoholic beverage.

After many hours had past, the night began to grow old, the guest were bid farewell, the mansion was cleared and, at long last, quiet.

Will removed his jacket and sighed with relief and fell back on a chair with fatigue. He closed his eyes and leaned his against the chair's back. The only sounds he heard was the distant tick-tock of the clock in the foyer and the argument that Anamaria had just managed continue with Jack.

"_This is the second time. The SECOND_!"

"_But I didn'_ lose _it this time. I should mos' definitely be praised for that! ON the contrary- I know_ exactly _where 'tis_!"

"_Well then, _where_ is it_?"

He closed his eyes and shook his head as he rubbed his temple for the 100th time that day. Jack… he really needed a few life lessons on the respecting of other people's property and asking before taking something you intend to "borrow." It would save his face and ears from a lot of torment.

"Well!" Governor Swann's cheery voice could be heard as he entered the room, adjusting his wig. "That was quite an adventure, I must say!"

Will scoffed at that. Truly that wasn't the half of it. He was never inviting Jack to such a formal occasion again. He wasn't sure exactly what he did, but Jack angered some of the marines and ended up making a getaway by crashing through the house as fast as his legs could carry him- knocking people and valuable objects over and even jumping on a table and spilling its contents off as he cruised across it. It had taken a lot on Will's behalf to assess the whole fray. Elizabeth entered the room and pulled Will out of his tired thoughts with a weary but no less becoming smile.

"You two must be exhausted," the governor sighed. "You needn't worry about cleaning this up, just get yourselves to bed and rest up."

"_IT SUNK_?! _WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE JOLLY MON SUNK_?! IF _YOU SUNK THIS ONE_-"

"_I didn'_! _I promise_!" Jack's voice was unusual high-pitched and frantic.

"_Alright, Miss_!" Commodore Norrington's voice could be heard, "_Time to leave_!"

"_You'll pay for this, Sparrow_!"

"You know what, that sounds fantastic," Elizabeth admitted as she walked calmly toward the stairway, Will's eyes silently following her pleasant figure. She kissed her father on the cheek and bid him goodnight then silently made her way up the stairs. Will grabbed his coat and made to follow her.

"Oh, William?" the governor's voice called after him.

He stopped and looked at Governor Swann, his eyebrows raised to show he was aware and listening.

"Don't you two stay up too late, son."

Will grinned softly. "Yes, sir." And he continued to climb the stairs.

"It's 'father' to you boy!"

"In that case, I expect to be called 'Will!'" Will called back over his shoulder as he smiled again, this time to himself. It felt good to be accepted so willingly. For years he felt that Elizabeth's father and looked down and frowned upon him, and he was sure that nothing would change after all of this. But he had been wrong and, for once, was glade he was. He made his way to the room that he and Elizabeth were appointed to stay in until their own house had been completed (which was originally, in fact, Elizabeth's room) and knocked lightly on the door.

She opened it with a slightly confused look on her face. Will didn't understand her confusion at first, but then he saw the mischievous gleam in her eye and new she was pulling his leg. She laughed as he gave her a disapproving scowl, also in good humor.

"You needn't knock, it's your room too." She turned walked away from the door, leaving it ajar for him to enter through.

"I know. I'm sorry, it's just… habit, I guess," he stepped in and shut the door behind himself, quietly. There was another knock at the door before anything else could be said. Will's face contorted in bemusement as he answered it.

"Where am I stayin'?" Jack asked, his face pouting anxiously and his hands put into a praying position. Will blinked for a second, not exactly expecting Jack to be the one at the door and a bit surprised at his strange -er- greeting. Obviously, he didn't want to be put somewhere too far from Will's protection.

Will could only shrug. "Ask Governor Swann- just because I married his daughter doesn't mean that I suddenly own his estate."

"'Kay," Jack sighed, allowing his hands to drop and his shoulders to slump. He stood on tip-toe and peeked over Will's slightly higher shoulder. "'Night Elizabeth. If he becomes a bother, just come and let ol' Jack know. I'll be righ'-"

Will shut the door swiftly in his face.

"_Well fine then_!" the captain roared back and made loud stomps as he walked away.

Elizabeth smiled quietly as she proceeded to remove her earrings at her vanity. Will watched her in silent thoughts as she began removing the pins in her hair. He twitched a smile and approached her from behind. "You found that funny, did you?"

"A little bit."

He looked at her face through the reflection in the mirror before them. He began to assist her in removing her hair accessories. "What part, his ridiculous suggestion or when I slammed the door?"

"Both."

Will removed the last pin and her hair fell down about her shoulders in soft, curled locks of caramel. He ran his fingers through the strands of soft, fragrant curls. Locking eyes with her through the mirror, he dropped his hand and wrapped his arms tenderly around her waist, holding her close to him, and she rested a hand on top of his in response. She smiled lightly with a warmth shining in her expression.

They stared into the reflections of one another's eyes for a moment, then turned to look into the real things. Then Will swept his face down upon hers. They kissed long and lovingly, Will stroking her cheek gently and Elizabeth turning around and wrapping her arms around his neck.

They paused and smiled upon one another, then Will took her into his arms and kissed her slightly deeper than before, closing his eyes and relishing the moment. How she felt, smelled, tasted.

A frantic knock sounded at the door and Will reluctantly pulled away, rolling his eyes quite angry and frustrated. The day was being built on interruptions and rude break ins.  
He looked back at Elizabeth, who had her lips pressed in a thin line, trying not to laugh. "One moment," he muttered as he slipped from her grip. Her hand slid down his arm as he backed away and took a firm hold of his hand, refusing to let him walk off.

He turned back and gave her a swift kiss, "One moment," he insisted and made for the door.

There was Estella, pale, shaking and breathing slightly harder than was normal.

"Yes?" Will asked, a slight bit befuddled.

"Miss-miss Swann?"

"Yes?" Elizabeth responded automatically (slightly forgetting that her name had been for the past few hours Mrs. Turner).

"Your father, he-" she broke off.

"What's wrong?" Elizabeth approached the door.

"He…he was murdered in the drawing room."

* * *

_  
Dun, dun, dun...._ Well, that's the first chapter... and the prologue. They don't fit very well together right now, I know, but- don't worry!- they will. I'd like opinions- (be gentle if you don't like- PLEASE! _Sobs dramatically and drops and grabs your leg_. Pause. _Gets up and brushes self off_. Sorry about that- guess I got carried away.). I'm going through and revising Chapter 2 right now... it kinda ended up a little bit different than I wanted it to. Ciao for Now! 

Jack E. '


	3. An Unawaited Threat

DISCLAIMER: _I do not and will never own any of the characters or settings appearing in this chapter. They were conceived by Ted Elliot & Terry Rossio, Jay Wolpert and Stuart Beattie and are owned by Disney Enterprises, Inc. Some of the dialogue can be connected to the first film and, hence, is not mine but was inserted into the story to put connections between my story and the film.   
_

* * *

**Chapter 2  
**"_An Unawaited Threat_"

At first, it didn't quite register with Elizabeth. It was as if she had heard the words escaping her maid's mouth but they meant nothing in her head- just floating and floating until ever so slowly, they began to make sense.… A small laugh of disbelief and innocent misunderstanding escaped Elizabeth's lips. "What?"  
  
"Dead!" Estella repeated, shaking and as pale as her bonnet. "He's dead, milady!"  
  
"Wait a minute-" Will pushed past Estella and took off down the stairway, while Elizabeth stood, her eyebrows furrowed with perplexity and her mouth moving in search of words that never came. '_He was murdered in the drawing room_.…' Could she be serious? Her father? Gone? No, that was impossible- she just saw him a few seconds ago, he couldn't be dead! No, perhaps he just fell asleep on the sofa? Yes. That seemed right. Estella had to be mistaken.

"Didn't you hear the gunshot?" Estella asked quietly.  
  
Elizabeth felt her blood run cold as her hopes of Estella bumbling things up were shattered like a piece of china dropped on the marble floor of her beloved home. Gunshot? '… _murdered in the drawing room _…' She looked up at Estella, all panicked and disheveled, and she shook her head truthfully. Gunshot? She hadn't heard a gunshot.…  
  
'…_murdered_…' Estella watched Elizabeth, awaiting her reaction. But she didn't seem to be doing anything."Milady?"  
  
'…_the gunshot_…' Gunshot.… Elizabeth's bemused expression returned in a greater depth as she let her mind think about it- molding this idea in her head. There was a gunshot so therefore, Estella must have heard it or seen it happen. But wasn't that odd? Such a silent moment and never did the sound even distinctly reach her ears. In fact, after Jack had stomped off in his so-called "fury," the house had been thoroughly silent. _Completely _silent to her- except for the gentle sound of Will's soft voice and eventually his breath. Surely, Jack was a bit … gaudy, but he certainly wouldn't have droned out the gunshot. And she knew for a fact that Will's voice could be loud when drawn to enough anger (a place that usually only Jack, foes and sometimes Commodore Norrington -unintentionally, I assure you- could make him get to), but Will was speaking quite softly at the time. He was in a gentle mood, something delicate enough to comfort a small baby (and yet strong enough to make Elizabeth secretly go weak at the knees- but she never would confess to that lest he use it to his advantage in the near future). '…_Gunshot_…'  
  
"There must be a mistake," she muttered and she drove past her maid, following in Will's footsteps down to the drawing room at a rapid pace, her body shaking, her mind reeling, and her heart praying that something about this whole situation was indeed very wrong.

* * *

About a year ago, Commodore Norrington was ready to pull his hair out of his head in the utter frustration that he felt from his current situation. Elizabeth had been kidnaped by pirates and the _Black Pearl_ had managed to tear the town into pieces whilst searching for all the gold and jewels her crew's greedy arms could carry. She was a hungry ship, Norrington had known that- seemingly always craving for more gold, more pearls, more silver, more silk, more and more and more of any material of value in this world. And she was seemingly starving for blood- life, innocent life. The sort of life that in no way became in tangled with the likes of a monster like the _Black Pearl_ until, invariably, she comes and ends that life, her conscious void of any piteous thought toward those who are effected by that sinful act. At least, that is what it appeared to be to Commodore Norrington and to his men. They did not realize that the _Black Pearl_ was simply desperate and manned by the wrong man. That is, they did not realize until they were proved wrong in the idea that there are such things as things that return from the dead.…  
  
Now, that was all in the past. Forgotten by most people who would rather not think about cruel, demented, vicious, undead skeleton pirates who cannot be killed. But Commodore James Norrington was never a man to take such events in his life lightly. He took that awful event in his life, that bizarre detour from order and safety, and taught himself important things, some of which no other commodore of His Majesty's Service had the opportunity to discover: that the dead may rise again, that a petty blacksmith can prove himself to be a worthy opponent in love and war, that Jack Sparrow is an absolute idiot but bloody good at slipping through your fingers, but, above all, Commodore Norrington learned that he needed to boost the security of Port Royal by night. Hence, by nightfall, the sentries atop Fort Charles were increased. And on this particular night, two of the soldiers were having a bit of a difficulty staying awake.  
  
Mr. Mullroy was the kind of officer that Commodore Norrington labeled as: bumbling. He and his partner Mr. Murtogg. Mr. Mullroy was a plump fellow who always seemed to have a trace of sleepiness in his eyes. It wasn't his fault, by all means, it was just that his eyes were sunk a bit deep into his skull, and that caused his eyelids to always have a small droop to them. He had dark hair- black, to be precise- and his skin was tanned a bit dark too from his time in the pulsating Caribbean sunlight; but his eyes were the lightest blue- they seemed to have a frosty quality to them which made him appear all the more stupid. It was as if they showed that the inside of his head was filled dominantly with one thing: nothing. That was, of course, ridiculous. He had his moments, even if they were few.  
  
Mr. Murtogg, however, was more unfortunate with brains. He also had his moments, but they were even fewer than Mr. Mullroy's, and when he did have those special times of "smartness," he often had a questioning note to his voice, as if he didn't understand what he was saying and was being brilliant without even really comprehending. Mr. Murtogg was smaller that Mr. Mullroy in general. He was thinner and scrawnier but he also was just plain smaller, making him shorter as well. His hair was brown with a reddish tint to it- auburn I think is the right color. His blank look was seemingly plastered on his face, and it didn't help that he often stuttered when he was truly unsure of himself. Yes, in the Commodore's eyes, these two were absolutely hopeless beyond any of his other men. So they remained together to be stupid together and, sometimes, quite brilliant together.  
  
It had been about an hour of watch and Mr. Mullroy was having difficulty in keeping his heavy eyelids from overpowering his will. His success wasn't that -er- successful, as he soon had his chin resting upon his breast and he was snoring quite peacefully whilst standing (he had gotten lots of practice at that talent).  
  
"_Oi_!"Mr. Murtogg nudged his partner of watch, Mr. Mullroy, with his elbow to evoke him from his state of slumber.  
  
"What?!" he fumed drowsily, struggling to pry his eyes open. He was having such good dreams- why did his partner have to go and do a stupid thing like waking him up?!  
  
"Come 'ere," Murtogg hissed, making a wide gesture for Mullroy to follow him. He made his way to the end of the fort's parapet, with Mullroy sluggishly dragging his feet to where he stood. Murtogg waited until Mullroy was a few steps behind him, then continued his escapade with pointing out to the harbor. "Look over there."  
  
Mr. Mullroy blinked his sleepiness away (but not his grumpiness) and squinted slightly into the moonlit night, scanning what he _thought _was the horizon. "What about it?"  
  
"D'you see the ship?"  
  
"What ship?"  
  
"_That_ ship," Murtogg emphasized pointing out into the salty darkness.  
  
"The Black Pearl?"  
  
"No, you're lookin' to close to the harbor- look a little further out to sea. Right…there."  
  
"You mean the one in that load of fog?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"What about it?" Mullroy asked nonchalantly. Mr. Murtogg's jaw quivered as he became confused by his comrade's cool composure. In his mind, this was a reason to alert an officer of   
higher authority, but in Mr. Mullroy's head there was one word running about that refused to leave his head, regardless of how fishy the circumstances appeared to be: sleep.

"Doesn't it look suspicious to you?"  
  
Mr. Mullroy gave his comrade a dissuading look. He did this often, as he was the leader of the two in wits. "Now, don't be ridiculous. S'just a ship."  
  
"Yes, but…" he cast an uncertain glance at the dark ship at sea, " but the fog and it's big and dark and, and … _ghostly_ lookin'." He turned back to his comrade, all the more confused. " Doesn't that seem a bit odd?"  
  
Mullroy rolled his eyes heavenward then grasped his ally firmly by the shoulders, turning him to face the Port Royal harbor. "Mr. Murtogg, if you'll look directly into that harbor of ours, you'll see a big, ghostly black ship, safely anchored there as well. It's harmless. What makes _that_ one any different?" He felt he had quite proven his point.  
  
"Well- it wasn't always harmless," Murtogg stammered with a timid and uncertain tone in his voice. He spun around and looked his friend firmly in the eye. " And-and _you_ didn't even believe that the Black Pearl existed before!"  
  
"Yes, I did," Mullroy argued angrily. He hated it when Mr. Murtogg insisted that he had once made a stupid mistake in his life. Although quite lethargic, Mr. Mullroy was also rather proud.  
  
"No, you didn't," Murtogg batted back.  
  
"_Yes_, I did."  
  
"No, you didn't. You said there was no such thing."  
  
"No, what I _said_," Mullroy began correcting his friend with a superior tone in his voice, "was that I didn't think _you saw_ the Black Pearl."  
  
"But… but to Mr. Sparrow you said that there was no such thing as the Black Pearl."  
  
Mr. Mullroy opened his mouth with a smile to reply then froze with a frown, realizing that his friend indeed was quite right. "Oh, yeah." He scowled and pulled Mr. Murtogg's tri hat down over his eyes. "Shut up."   
  
"See?" Mr. Murtogg batted at him as he slid his hat back on properly. "Now, if you said there was no such thing as the Black Pearl and there _is_, then why should I believe you when you say that _that_ ship is _harmless_?" he demanded, readjusting his hat and pointing out to the ship.  
  
"Well-" he cut off when he looked out to sea again. "Hey, where'd it go?"  
  
They hastily scanned the horizon for any sign of the mysterious ship- a shadow, a silhouette or something.

"S'that it?" Mr. Murtogg asked, pointing to a big, ominous-looking black ship.  
  
Mr. Mullroy slapped the back of Mr. Murtogg's head. "That's the Black Pearl you nitwit!"  
  
"Oh.… Oh yeah!"  
  
They were interrupted by a loud but soft (in texture) thud. The soldier who was standing at attention on the opposite end of the parapet fell to floor, limp as rag doll.   
  
"Say, what's wrong with Mr. Dewhurst?" Mr. Murtogg asked, pointing to their fallen brother in arms and looking back at Mr. Mullroy, who just shook his head and shrugged, '_I dunno_!' his mouth pressed down in an unmistakeable frown.  
  
After staring at Mr. Dewhurst for a good long while, Mr. Mullroy shook his head in disgust and, deciding to try and find the strange ship again, he began to scan the horizon. He looked and strained his eyesight to the limit, not being able to see anything but darkness. He squinted and squinted until his eyes appeared as two thin lines stretched across his face and he felt a vigorous tapping on his shoulder.   
  
Mr. Murtogg, rigid and pale, pointed at the floor where Mr. Dewhurst was laying- the shadow cast by the fort was _moving_. Creeping, slowly towards them as if someone had managed to tie a string to its end and stretch it in their direction. Clutching their rifles in an upright position, they backed in unison until they backed into a corner and were unable to move any further, stiff and frightened of this moving … shadow.  
  
Another thud sounded and they looked up to the tower of the fort, where the soldier had also fallen. Their eyes darted back downward. The shadow lurked closer and closer, and they scrunched harder and harder into the corner until the shadow was at their feet. They snapped their eyes shut in anticipation, clutching their rifles in their hands. The shadow reached them, enveloped them, and they fell to the floor with a thud.

* * *

Norrington was walking down a street in town with Mr. Gillette, talking quietly and making sure that everyone was getting into their buildings- curfew had begun. They were walking in silent thought for a long time, just keeping to themselves and were totally unaware of the strange happenings taking place at Fort Charles and Governor Swann's mansion  
  
"It must've been quite hard for you, sir," Mr. Gillette suddenly shot out.  
  
"What?" Norrington chuckled, looking at Mr. Gillette a bit befuddled. They hadn't been talking at all and suddenly he blurted out some hogwash sentence.  
  
"Well, the wedding and all.… She looked so… _happy_…to be with _him_."  
  
Norrington half-smiled as he cast his gaze ahead of him. "Yes. She did, didn't she?"  
  
"Does it make you angry?"  
  
Norrington stood still and silent for a moment, as he needed as much concentration as possible to think about it. _Did_ it make him angry? Possibly _jealous_? "…No," he answered and continued to walk. "I'll admit that it is a bit… painful, seeing that he makes her smile in a way that I could never accomplish.… His love is, after all, something special."  
  
Mr. Gillette frowned and looked away from Norrington, slightly guilty for having put him in such a somber mood. He had believed that Miss Swann had indeed fallen for the Commodore after hearing of their engagement. After all, every eligible highborn woman in Port Royal had set their eyes on the dashing commander. He was everything a woman could ask for: intelligent, sophisticated, rich, handsome, highly successful. And yet, the _governor_'_s_ _daughter_, the highest born woman on the whole of Port Royal, the one woman who could've had any man she desired and the woman that the Commodore had set his heart on, chose … a blacksmith. Oh, in society and rank Mr. Turner couldn't be more opposite than Norrington! A blacksmith?! It didn't make sense to the young Lieutenant. Anything Mister William Turner had, Commodore James Norrington had- some things in twice fold. They were _both _handsome, _both_ smart, _both _chivalrous but the Commodore just had more. More money, more class, more knowledge, more success- it just made _more_ sense for Elizabeth Swann to be Mrs. Elizabeth _Norrington_, not Mrs. Elizabeth Turner.  
  
"I had believed at one time that she was mine. That she had accepted me and would willingly come with me and be with me…but that was only for a fleeting moment.… She loved him from the beginning- I saw it in her eyes and the way she spoke of him. But I was just too stubborn to let it be right away."  
  
They walked in an awkward silence. The conversation was, for Gillette, in itself awkward and the silence made the feeling grow suddenly. Gillette, in attempt to shake the repeating words in his mind, looked around him as he walked, taking in the scenery of this nightly hour when something strange caught his eyes. A line of candles stood steadily burning in front of a pottery shop, until an immense creeping shadow slid toward the tiny torches and put the first one out with a silent _hiss_. "Commodore."  
  
Gillette grasped Norrington by the soldier and pointed toward the lights. Norrington looked and took note of it, his brow creased in perplexed curiosity as, one by one, the torches sizzled out when enveloped by this dark mass. '_What_ _have we here_?'  
  
"What is it?" Gillette asked in a low whisper.  
  
"I don't know." The Commodore was now throwing the shadow a suspicious look. After his experience with the _Black Pearl_ last year he had, indeed, learned to expect the unexpected and suspected the unsuspected. He hadn't become superstitious, oh no! by all means, no! But he hadn't forgotten what had happened when he didn't believe that the pirates were cursed- lives were lost and the battle was almost lost. The only place he had heard of a darkness powerful enough to extinguish all light was in the story of Moses. '_How_ _peculiar_….'  
  
The shadow glided in their direction and Norrington suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Something about this mass was undeniably wrong. It sent a chill to the bone. In fact, Norrington couldn't help but note how his breath had turned to something misty- he could see it. But this was the Caribbean. For you to be able to see your breath in a cloudy muster was simply impossible. The last time the commodore could see his breath was when he had gone on holiday for Christmas in Northern England- but that was when he was just a lad, barely four years of age. As he took every breath his lungs seemed to coat in ice. He seemed to feel colder inside than out.  
  
A light crackling sound reached his ears and he looked down to see a puddle, not five feet away from him freezing before his eyes at a rapid pace as the shadow touched its edge. Then he felt the rise of goose bumps upon his arms and legs as a sudden feeling crawled upon his skin: something was watching them. His gaze averted into the darkness. Now that it was so close he could see that it wasn't just a shadow but a wall of darkness, beyond which he could only see the dark shadows and silhouettes of the objects he once could see clearly, regardless of how much he attempted to pierce it with his gaze. Then his blood ran chill as somewhere, from inside his head, a dark chuckle sounded. And there was only one way but many words to describe it: evil. Evil and malicious and nefarious to the point that Commodore Norrington felt the cold chill of fear began to envelope his mind for the first time in his life since he was a young sailor.   
  
It was a strange and new sensation to him, something his body wasn't adept to anymore. It was something he had taught himself to block, to numb himself against it, to feel any other thing but this one emotion, this bane of so many men before him. He had blocked it for so long that his body was not use to it at all. It was unfamiliar and unprecedented- how did he react to this strange feeling? He did not know and his mentality froze and failed him. What to do? Where to go? What was happening? As the shadow approached them closer and closer, the laughter grew louder and fiercer, mirthless and as cold as the radical temperature around them. His eyes were bonded to the inky obscurity that lay before him, his feet glued firmly to the ground.   
  
Gillette's knees buckled beneath him, and he fell to the ground with a harsh clump. This caught Norrington's attention suddenly and he was able to somehow draw his gaze away from the black oblivion and check on his partner in arms, the cackling growing more and more silent, fading. Then, suddenly, out of the clear blue, one word managed to somehow worm its way into the commodore's standstill mind as the shadow stood one foot away from him: run.  
  
He began to shakily backpedal. "Gillette," he couldn't believe how shaky his voice had become- what on earth was the matter with him?  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"Run."   
  
But as Gillette stood and Norrington turned on heel the shadow closed in on them with a sudden burst of robust energy and they crumpled to the floor in two worthless heaps.

* * *

The sight was one that was unexpected. There was Will, but he was standing all alone in the center of the drawing room, looking around him with a bewildered expression- Elizabeth's father wasn't anywhere in sight. She felt slightly confused and Will looked into her eyes with the same thoughts reflecting his own.  
  
"She _did_ say, 'the drawing room?'" he asked for a confirmation.  
  
Yes. She said it clear as crystal- '_Your_ _father was murdered in the drawing room_.' She nodded. "That's what I heard."  
  
A frustrated expression took hold of Will's face as he turned a circle with his arms outstretched in a presenting posture. "Well, if he was here … the body's gone."  
  
Elizabeth felt a chill run up her spine. That could mean that the murderer was still wandering the house. She quickly made her way to Will's side and buried herself into his shoulder, wrapping her petite arms around his waist as a source of comfort. He lightly placed an arm around her as his eyes still darted to and fro whilst thinking the situation through. Normally, Elizabeth was a brave woman- fiery unlike any other girl that people could meet. But this night she was frightened, timid, and felt very small in a situation that didn't make sense at all, and Will could feel it. He gave her a reassuring squeeze with a small, "It's alright." But, honestly, was it?  
  
'_He_ _was murdered in the drawing room_.…' This was the drawing room and there was no Governor Swann nor was there any evidence that he had been killed here, no blood. Unless, of course he had been strangled or beaten… but there was no sign of a scuffle either. "Elizabeth?"  
  
"What?" she sounded miserable. And she was. She wanted to go upstairs to her bed, go to sleep and wake up to find out that this all was just an awful joke of Jack's or a ridiculous dream.  
  
"Did Estella tell you exactly _how_ your father was… you know."  
  
"Yes.… She said that he was shot."  
  
Will face contorted in more perplexity than before. That couldn't be. It just couldn't. He would have heard that shot and there would- there _should_- be blood or some other verification to testify of this heinous act. Perhaps Estella was mistaken? She heard a bang from the kitchen and was overreacting? That had to be it- it was the only explanation. "Estella-" He turned to the doorway to address the person standing there.  
  
But it was just Jack, standing there with his finger up in a position that suggested he had something to say. And he did. "Uh, Will?"  
  
It was then that Will noticed that Jack was far more awkward in voice than was normal for him, and his face gave off the same form of discomfort. His eyebrows were high and knit together in an uncomfortable appearance. He gave Jack a suspicious look. "Jack?"  
  
Jack opened his mouth and took a deep breath, his finger still at shoulder-height. Then he clamped his mouth shut and took a step into the room. He opened his mouth and let his head bob to the side and roll around in exaggerated gestures as he spoke, "I think there's somethin' I oughta tell you." He began to chew the inside of his mouth.  
  
Disbelief began to mix with the mistrust that was riddled in Will's eyes as Elizabeth also began to give him her own stare of incertitude. "Do you have something to do with this, Jack?"  
  
Jack opened his mouth again, readying to speak. A woman's scream suddenly broke through the situation, coming from the streets of the city. Elizabeth broke from her hold of Will and ran to the window, pushing the light drapery aside and opening it with much dexterity.  
  
Jack winced and tried to force a grin through it as Will looked back at him. "I jus' might have a little bit to do with it."  
  
Will felt his face unconsciously began to glare at Jack. He didn't kill the governor, did he? Was he doing something stupid that accidently caused the situation to take a turn?  
  
"Will," Elizabeth's voice was shaky and she turned and gave her husband a frightened glance, "there's something out there."  
  
The lamps and candles that lit the house all abruptly began to flicker, casting strange lights on the walls. Then suddenly a fierce wind blew through the window, sweeping its way throughout the mansion and it was then that all the lights in the large house in unison blew out. Sudden darkness enveloped them and a sudden quiet, except for Will and Elizabeth's quickened breathing, softly breathing… breathing….   
  
Elizabeth gasped as a light appeared before her. It was a small light, like the small yellow flame of a candle, but it glowed as steadily as the sun, a small orb of radiance floating in the air before her startled face.  
  
Then Will let out a small gasp of surprise as one dawned before him. Jack let out a strange squeak as one materialized before him. Then one appeared next to that one and that one had one show up next to the other. They were everywhere, little stars twinkling in the dark, illumining small other stars of a brilliant nature around them. It was no longer frightening, but beautiful and intriguing. There was something alluring about the tiny orbs and even peaceably palliating.   
  
Will looked at his orb carefully. It was just there, levitating. Nothing was holding it up, hanging it down. He studied it carefully as it began to captivate him. The center…there was something there as far as he could see. At first it just looked like it might have been a small flame, but as he studied he couldn't quite make out what it was. Then, somewhere in his mind he began to hear a soft laughter… a child's laughter…. He jumped suddenly as he somehow recognized that laughter… it was his laughter. More voices began to echo softly in the back of his head, steadily growing louder and more clear.  
  
'_William_ _Turner_, _you come back here with that,_ _young man_!' It was a man's voice.  
  
The child's giggling persisted. '_No_!' There was the soft sound of a child's feet pattering on a wood surface as the child gave a bubbly laugh of delight. They were playing a game.   
  
'_Will_!'  
  
Suddenly the scene began to materialize before his eyes. A room of a simple English cottage appeared before him and a man, tall with dark chocolate colored hair and sparkling brown eyes. Will felt his heart jump suddenly- his father.   
  
The man, who looked remarkably like Will, laughed merrily as a small boy with the same dark tresses sprouting from his tiny head ran and hid behind a rocking chair that was placed in a corner near the fireplace. His laugh held a soul-warming quality to it for Will and he felt himself grin as he saw himself, a boy of three years in age, giggle again, hiding behind the chair as if he were behind prison bars.  
  
'_You_ _can't find me_!'  
  
The man put a finger to his chin and plastered an overly-thoughtful expression on his countenance- much like Jack. '_You're_ _right- I can't_!'  
  
The boy tittered once more. '_You're_ _lookin' the wrong way_!'  
  
The man spun around and laid his eyes on his child, giving him a disapproving look. He bent low and beckoned to the boy with his finger.  
  
The boy shook his head vigorously, stifling a snicker.  
  
'_You_ _get over here_, _William Turner_, _and bring back that compass or you're going to get a good smacking to that bottom of yours_.' He began to take small steps towards the child.  
  
Again, the lad shook his head vigorously. He let his hands let go of the bars that formed the chair's back and grabbed hold of the navigational tool that had been hung on his tiny wrist with a strip of leather, clutching it firmly in his miniature hands with his young, innocent eyes agleam.  
  
The man by now stood only a few steps from the rocking chair. He stopped and for one time more beckoned the tot to come to him. But only to receive the same giggly response.  
  
The man put his hands on his knees and placed his weight on them, giving the impression that he had had enough. '_Alright_,' he sighed. '_I_ _give up_.' He stood and, after a good stretch, let himself fall heavily into the chair. '_I think I'll take a nap- I'm worn out after that_!'  
  
The boy, behind the chair, sat there, waiting and listening quietly as his father began to snore softly. Taking careful steps, he made his way around to the front of the chair. He looked carefully at his father, up and down several times. He crept closer to the sleeping figure and poked his thigh with his fragile finger, waiting to see what happened. After a few short seconds, the babe confirmed in his infantile, undefiled mind that the man was indeed asleep and turned and began to walk away.  
  
'_Ah-ha_!' the man jumped to life and grabbed the child from behind, who shrieked, squirmed and laughed with simple delight. The man brought the wriggling child to his lap and, after managing to pry the black compass from the boy's hands and pocketing it, he lifted the lad's tiny white shirt, brought his wee little round belly to his lips and blew.   
  
The boy erupted in laughter, his face twisted in his pure bliss. '_No_! _No_, _Papa_! _Stop_!' He grabbed his father's face and held if firmly in his tiny grasp. The man stopped and looked his boy in the eyes. '_No_,' the little one repeated firmly.  
  
The man grinned maliciously and once again pressed his lips upon his boy's tummy and blew as the boy again broke out in musical guffaws.  
  
As this ticklish torture resumed, the youngster's laughter coming in waves of relish, Will's eye beheld a woman appear at the doorway in the background. She was a beautiful woman, her figure pleasing to the eye and her shimmering green eyes warm with affection as she looked upon the monkeying duo. And as Will looked at her a warmth tingled in his soul. It was his mother.   
  
Her soft presence was unmistakable. Memories began to flood to him of once upon a time ago. Beloved memories of gentle hands, sweet kisses and a soft voice; of open arms when hurt befell him or fear captured him; of good food, warm blankets and enchanting stories on rainy days and stormy nights; of a home where he belonged to someone who loved him in a way that was different from Elizabeth; and his heart ached. Those days were few, for his mother's days were cut short… by the cruelty of pirates.   
  
Her gaze averted to Will and he jumped as she locked eyes with him. She could see him! A sudden longing took hold of his heart. It had been so long since he had seen his mother. Her face was a memory that he had barely managed to hold onto in the back of his mind as he grew up, slipping away as the years went by the way water dripped through his cupped fingers. But she was here, standing before him. His mother.… Unconsciously, his hand rose and began to reach for her cheek- to touch her. She was so close. After all these years, when death had been put between them he could feel her loving touch again. His shaky fingers came closer to her loving face, mere inches stood between them. He thrust his hand out.  
  
With a rush of wind the image was swept away and Will snapped out of what he felt like was a dream. He threw a confused look at Elizabeth, who cocked her head in bemusement. What had happened? The orbs of light were gone, but now a dancing pattern of light began to play on the mansion walls: the reflection of water. Jack looked around him but was surprised to find no liquid nor a light source. Then shadows began to dance about the walls on top of this watery canvas. Hundreds of shadows of people walking, talking, sitting in the shadows of the chairs. They were moving extremely quickly, as if the history of this room was being played out before their eyes at a breakneck speed until, finally, Will recognized his, Jack's and Elizabeth's shadows standing as they were now. Then all went black. Elizabeth gasped as she became frightened again.  
  
The room was completely void of any light for one minute. One minute that seemed hours to Elizabeth. She was frightened. She couldn't even see the moon outside. It was pitch dark. The sort of dark that you only know in your nightmares and can't escape it, and she felt alone. Like she was the only existing being in the entire world. She hated the feeling. She loathed it with a passion and wished for it to leave, and she knew one person who could make it all disappear in an instant. "Will?" her voice cracked softly.   
  
There was no reply. She became confused again. Why wasn't Will answering her? He always stood by her side, he always was there for her and if she felt the necessity to be reassured of his presence, he never opposed to it before. What was wrong?  
  
The lights flickered on and she received her answer: he wasn't there. Jack stood in the doorway, looking just as bemused as she had felt… but Will was gone. The thought began to sink into her. Will was gone. She looked about her, casting her eyes about the room. "Will?" she called more strongly. There was no answer. "Will, where are you?"  
  
She began to panic. If Will was gone, she wouldn't have anybody. No one. He was everything to her. She had made that clear to him many times before, so he couldn't have run away. But she didn't hear a scuffle while in the dark. 'No….'   
  
A small breeze ruffled the curtains as it passed through the window, seizing her attention. She swiftly made her way to it, praying to find Will outside declaring something like, '_I'm_ _off to find your father- and don't even think about following me_!' but she didn't. A great shadow approached the window- a wall of darkness- and the last thing Elizabeth could recall was feeling immensely cold and frightened and the last she thing she could remember seeing was the moon, before it went entirely black.

* * *

'_What_ _are you doing_?'  
  
Will jumped and spun around at the voice. He hadn't even realized someone had walked into the shop, he was so lost in his work… but someone had. And it wasn't just anyone, he realized as his heart skipped a beat and his face went hot- it was Elizabeth Swann.   
  
She giggled at his reaction. His eyebrows had shot sky-high, and his mouth began to frantically move in search of words but eventually he realized he couldn't find any and just gave a timid smile. He simply stared at her for quite a while, his eyes wide, as eager and innocent as a child and his fingers fiddling with his hammer nervously. Will was one who tended to fidget, Elizabeth had noted.  
  
'_Well_? _Are you going to leave me in the dark or are you going to explain to me exactly what you're doing_?'  
  
He blinked as he began to understand what the melodious sounds leaving her lips were. '_Oh_! _Oh_, _yes_. _Well_, _uh_…' he gave an awkward laugh as he looked back at his work. '_I-I was making a sword but_, _uh_, _it appears as if that didn't exactly work out_.…'  
  
She gave him a bemused look as she took graceful steps down the little stairs that allowed her into his forge. '_Why_, _what happened_?'  
  
He gave another awkward laugh and exchanged his hammer for the blade he had been molding into something of his liking. He seemed hesitant- she seemed expectant. After a moment's struggle he looked up at her and gave a twitchy half-smile. '_When_, _uh_… _when you walked in I stopped folding the steel and I let it_… _the blade is pretty much ruined_,' he summed simply seeing her uncomprehending visage.  
  
She frowned and looked sympathetic. '_Oh_, _I'm sorry_! _Did I make you do that_?'  
  
'_No_! _No_, _not at all Miss Swann_.… _Well_, _technically_, _yes_. _I'm not going to lie_, _but in a way it was my fault_. _I don't react the same way to_ … _uh_, _women of the gentry as I do to the gentlemen_.… _The ladies usually never come here_.… _In fact_, _you're the first_. _You just caught me off my guard_, _Miss Swann_.'   
  
Elizabeth couldn't help but grin a tight-lipped grin at his stuttery nature. He was so fidgety, so jumpy, so … tense, and she knew very well that he didn't act this way around her father. She had seen some of their conversations in secret (she usually wasn't one the eavesdrop, but sometimes she couldn't help herself). Around other gentlemen he was cool, casual but when she tried to speak to him he changed. She supposed he became nervous around women. It was almost … cute. But maybe it was just her.   
  
She didn't know why, but ever since she was some seventeen years old, Elizabeth, for some odd reason, had found Mr. Turner somewhat… attractive. She tried to force herself to put these thoughts to shame, telling herself that it was just a silly infatuation and, in truth, it was. Or, at least, that's what it used to be. For the thoughts never left, but grew and transformed. So she locked them up, hoping that they would one day disappear. But they only changed more fleetingly.  
  
He looked at her, blinking rapidly (another nervous habit of his), before he set his gaze at the floor. '_What_…' he gave a sigh, '_what are you doing here_, _Miss Swann_?'   
  
'_Hm_? _Oh_! _Come here_,' she lead him to a nearby table and laid out a rolled up piece of parchment she had been clutching in her hand. '_Now_-' she stopped abruptly to see Will standing some three feet behind her. '_Come_ here,' she pressed.  
  
He jumped a bit and then closed up the gap, attempting to peek over her petite shoulder at the designs which were drawn onto the paper- but she was distracting and became a bit more interested in the shape of her face and how soft her hair and skin looked. This was the closest he was ever going to be able to get to her and he could feel temptation arise- to touch her. Meanwhile, Elizabeth silently shivered a bit at the feel of his breath upon the back of her neck- but not from disgust. Rather, it was something quite opposite in feeling.  
  
'_Now_,' she cleared her throat and changed the tone of her voice back to her business-like tone. '_Father_ _had these designs drawn out for a sword he wants done by next Tuesday_. _He said he wanted something along these lines_, _but if Mr. Brown have any better ideas then he said to go with his instincts_. _He also said he wants it to be his best work- it's for Captain Norrington's promotion ceremony_. _Can you two handle it_?'  
  
She waited for a moment and became a bit angry when there was no reply. '_Will_?'  
  
Again, no answer. She spun around abruptly and the blacksmith stumbled backwards, his eyes wide with shock. She stifled a laugh that had oh-so-dearly wished to escape, managing to maintain her staid composure. '_William_ _Turner_, _did you hear a word of what I said_?'  
  
He looked at her, dazed for a moment and then blinked. He spoke suddenly and rapidly. '_Oh_, _yes_, _Miss Swann_. _Next Tuesday_… _Captain Norrington_… _my best work_,' he blushed crimson at his stupid stammering and bent his head in utter embarrassment.  
  
Elizabeth laughed. She couldn't help it. He was so timid that it was almost pathetic. '_Yes_, _Will_. _Very good_.' She patted his head as a joke and continued to giggle as she readjusted her hat and then made her way swiftly to the door.  
  
'_Miss Swann_?' Will called after her, and she jumped a bit internally. She bit the inside of her bottom lip and, regaining her composure, turned gracefully around to meet his shy gaze.  
  
'_Yes_, _Will_?'  
  
He appeared hesitant at first, but, in the end, managed to get the words out. '_You_… _look very lovely today_, _Miss Swann_."  
  
She couldn't help but grin and even blush a bit. It felt good to hear him compliment her in such a manner, even if she knew he probably didn't mean it. That thought saddened her slightly. Propriety was never something she favored. She could see the bashfulness in his face but knew very well he was probably just trying his best to be polite. But still, she walked towards him and, gently leaning forward, she planted a soft and chaste kiss on his warm and sweaty cheek. '_Call_ _me_, _Elizabeth_,' she whispered gently before turning on heel and in a flurry of skirt was gone, leaving him with an wide-eyed earnest expression upon his countenance that she couldn't quite read and a burning in his soul.

* * *

It was high noon. Something brushed her cheek and Elizabeth, opening her eyes slowly, found that she wasn't looking at her bedroom ceiling. She wasn't even in her bed. She was on the floor in the parlor next to the windows, which were open, streaming happy sunlight, blowing the drapes about lightly and the songs of birds in the trees. The drapes must've brushed her face. She sat up, realizing her back and neck ached quite a bit. She looked about her and saw Jack laying on the couch with his feet propped up on the arm of one end, his hat slid down over his eyes and his hand being waved back and forth in time as he sang to himself.   
  
"We're devils and black sheep and really bad eggs. Drink up, me hearties! Yo ho!…"  
  
She was confused. Why had she been asleep on the parlor floor? She glanced at Jack, who had just finished the chorus and was making his way into the next verse. What was Jack doing in her home? Her neck gave an awful throb and she hissed in pain as she reached up and touched the back of her neck. She jumped when she fell a small bit of cold metal touch her skin. She looked at her left hand and saw a silver ring with gold filigree engravings that wrapped itself around her finger. A ring?…The memories of yesterday came flooding back into her mind. The wedding… and then, her father…and the lights and…her heart jumped into her throat. '_Will_.'  
  
She jumped to her feet, ignoring the aches they screamed of in protest, and ran throughout the house, checking each and every room. Opening this door and running her eyes over the main details of the room. Nothing. Well, what about this room? No, nor was he there. The possibility that maybe he was trying to be heroic and find the murderer was throbbing in her mind. That was the only explanation that made sense to her- it had to be it. She ran to the kitchen, the dining room, her father's study, the library, upstairs she went and looked into the bed rooms, the guest rooms and as she did so, she found the servants, going about their everyday business and her frantic nature was causing her to receive some odd looks from a good many of them. But she did not see them. And even if she did take the time to notice, she would not have cared. In her mind she was formulating a plan as she went, deciding in advance what she was to do should he not be in her home whilst frantically flying from room to room, looking for Will. And with every room that lacked her husband's presence, a little hope left her.   
  
Leaving the final guest room, she turned to face the last room in the house. It was their bedroom. Will had chosen it, as he wanted a room that was away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of house and it was Elizabeth's bedroom. She had chosen it for a bedroom as a little girl the very same reason. A little bit of hope sprung in her at this thought- like a light at the end of a dark, gruesome tunnel. It was _their _bedroom. Why hadn't she come straight here? After all, maybe he decided to retire for the evening? '_And if he did_, _he's going to get a hiding like none other for not taking me with him_! _Leaving me on the floor_- _of all places_!' .… Or maybe someone else found him in an immobile position and brought him there? The pit of her stomach dropped out. '_Oh_, _please no_.…' She didn't want to think what may have placed him in such a condition.  
  
She stared at the door for a long time, just staring blankly. Then she began to move towards it, slowly taking step by step down the hallway, hoping a good result may lie in wait behind the door, dreading what it could be. The door seemed to refuse to get closer. Every step she took didn't seem to make much a difference in how far away it was. She set her gaze downward, forcing herself to watch the floor as she made her way towards her fate. Butterflies began to flutter in her belly, stronger and stronger with each and every gentle footfall. She was going as slow as possible. She gave a snort as she thought of this- she must be quite a show. It felt like when she was a child again, going to her father's study to receive a punishment for some mischievous deed. She remembered those days very clearly. Will would come over and play and she would get the two of them in trouble, where as, if they had just listened to him.… Her stomach clenched. She shouldn't let such thoughts fill her head. They surrounded her husband.  
  
She jumped when she softly bumped into the door- it had been a bit closer than she thought. She took a quick glance around to justify no one was looking. She didn't know why, she wasn't doing wrong of a secretive nature.…  
  
She turned her gaze back on her doorknob and, for a while, that was all she could bear. Somehow that thing, that ball of brass and iron seemed so ominous. It would take her to the room, and she would discover whether or not Will lay in wait. She reached a shaky hand towards it and almost immediately drew it back. She took a deep breath. '_It's_ _okay_,' she told herself. '_If_ _he isn't there_, _then it's not the end of the world_. _Remember_, _he could very well be in town looking for your father_. _All won't be lost_.…' And with that, she took a few more deep and steady breaths before raising her hand, taking a firm grip of the cool metal and giving it a turn.  
  
With a gentle click and the softest creak, the door steadily swung open to reveal her bedroom, bathed in sunlight. A soft wind teased her curtains a bit and ruffled the four posters of her bed… which was empty. She glanced about the room, hoping he might have just risen from his slumber, but to no avail.  
  
She wandered to her wedding bed and sat upon its edge, not quite sure how to respond to this. Regardless of what she had told herself, she felt helpless and alone, and a lump in her throat formed as she spoke his name in a soft, cracked voice, "Will.…" Her throat began to ache from holding it back and she allowed herself to tip to the side and fall into the soft pillows- but their cushiness was not welcoming. He was gone, her father was gone and now she was alone, without those she loved most. She yearned for someone to be there, to wrap their arms around her and whisper it was alright. Strong arms. Those arms that had done so so many times before, those arms that bore those wonderful hands, callused though they were. The hands that would brush her wayward tresses out of her eyes, cup her face in themselves and allow their possessor to kiss the tears away. And those eyes. Those warm, loving eyes that somehow always felt safe to look upon.…No, he couldn't be gone. This had to be some awful nightmare or life appeared over in her sudden blinding despair. '_Will_.…'  
  
She let a small sob to slip through her lips. No matter how much she wished to stifle those tears, to bury them away they began to slip beyond her control, pressuring harder and harder the more she willed against it. '_Will_.…' Oh! She could see his face! His familiar loving, smiling features: his soft beaming lips, his immensely profound eyes- '_Please_ _no_!' She lost all control in that instant and everything came surging out, as if to leave her at once. Acid tears soaked and stung her sensitive cheeks and her throat felt wretched from attempting to quiet her bawls. She grabbed one of her pillows and clutched it close to her body, burying her face in its spongy depths, attempting to muffle her wails. She felt like a child who had just lost her family. She didn't know where to go or what to do. She felt lost. And she continued to weep.… Where would she go? What would she do? She had only been his for a matter of hours and actually had been able to be in his company for one short moment before everything became wrong. Everything was wrong and she hated it. She couldn't stop it. She was helpless.... More tears flooded out onto her pillow.  
  
'_Get_ _a hold of yourself_!' A voice abruptly scolded from somewhere in her head. Just as suddenly as that voice had come, her tears ceased as she began to let it scold her severely. '_Yes_, _Will's not in the mansion_. _His missing from the mansion_. _So what_? _He could be at his forge_, _or at the docks_, _or at the market or discussing something with Commodore Norrington_. _Just because he isn't home doesn't mean he's completely missing_. _And_, _even if he were missing_, _you're acting upon it in an exhaustively pathetic manner_! _When you disappeared Will didn't run to his forge_, _curl up next to a pillow and cry when you were taken away-_' she let out a small laugh at the image that appeared in her head as a result of that thought '-_he got up and did something_! _He went after you, even when the world rose up against him and told him to let it be_. _He didn't let it just pass by_…. _You have to at least get help- there's no way you're the only person alive on this island and there's no way you can't get assistance_. _You have a job to do_. You're _also the governor's daughter and your father has disappeared_. _Get up_.'  
  
Elizabeth sat, silent and still for a long moment. This was all too true. She needed to get help. The governor was missing- and what happened last night was a strange and unusual situation. She needed to report it immediately. She stood and wiped the last remaining tears from her eyes. She would be strong.  
  
She walked out into the hallway and looked down it anxiously. She listened for movement of any sort.… Nothing. She took a deep breath and stepped out into the hallway. There was a loud creak and she jumped from surprise . She held very still, looking for movement.…Again, nothing. She frowned and continued to walk. There was another creak. She stopped. After thinking things through, she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet and discovered that the creak intensified every time she changed direction. She sighed with relief, cursing herself for being so easily frightened. She had forgotten that the floor creaked there. She continued down the hallway, feeling quite stupid.  
  
Elizabeth eventually came near the staircase, and made ready to turn and descend- she had a bone or two to pick with Jack Sparrow- when she noticed that Estella laid face-down on the floor of a room that she was passing. Now, wasn't that odd? Estella was never one to fall asleep on the job in the first place, but in the middle of the floor? She decided to go and check it out.

She swiftly made her way to Estella's side, kneeling, and she reached out and grasped her shoulder, turning her over as gently as she could. "Estella?"  
  
Estella's face was stiffly immobile for a frustrating moment, then her eyes managed to flutter open. She sat up hastily upon sight of Elizabeth with a bashful grin on her face as she smoothed her hair and adjusted her bonnet, "Oh, I beg your pardon, milady! Must have dozed off there!"  
  
At first Elizabeth was in shock and she wasn't exactly sure what to think of the situation., but then immense relief came over her and she threw her arms around Estella, who went rigid from surprise. "Oh, Estella, I'm so happy to see you!"  
  
"Oh! Well, I'm happy to see you to, miss," Estella replied with a bit of confusion written on her face.

Elizabeth clutched to Estella the way she did to her mother when she was a little child, coming home from what she thought was an awful adventure. Estella could hep so much- she was the one who had come t notify her of her father's death. She pulled away from Estella and looked at her firmly and quite seriously. "Estella," her tone was low and also quite sedated, "I need you to tell me everything that you know about what happened to my father last night. Did you see the murderer?"  
  
"Good heavens, miss! What ever do you mean?"  
  
Elizabeth's face twitched into confusion. "What do you mean, '_What_ _do you mean_?' Last night, the murder and my father.…"  
  
Estella gave Elizabeth a worried look. "Beggin' your pardon, miss- _ma'am_, but I haven't a clue on what you're talkin' about. The last thing I remember was seein' you and your Mr. Turner headin' to your quarters," she blushed a light shade of pink. "Must've fallen asleep from havin' too much wine."  
  
Elizabeth sat there in thought. What did she mean? Estella didn't black out that quickly- she remembered very well, without a shadow of a doubt that Estella had come to her bedroom door, quite conscious, mind you, to inform Will and her of the horrible news. If Estella didn't remember all of that, then something must be quite wrong with her. "Milady?"  
  
Elizabeth snapped back and looked at Estella's anxious face, expectantly.   
  
"Are you alright, milady?"  
  
Elizabeth looked at Estella for a long moment before deciding the play a part and get out of this mess. Estella was of no use to her in the end. "Oh, yes, Estella. I'm sorry- I drank quite a bit of wine as well and am beginning to think there was something wrong with it. Please excuse me for my strange behavior. I'm going to talk to dear Mrs. Bosworth to see if there's something wrong with the drinks. Excuse me."  
  
"Yes, ma'am," Estella uttered with a bit of an astonished tone to her voice and wide eyes as  
  
Elizabeth stood and walked briskly out of the room.  
  
This was odd. Was it possible that Elizabeth had dreamed up the whole thing and had simply sleep-walked down to the drawing room? Perhaps, but that didn't explain Will not taking the care of returning her to her bed in the morning, at least. And she hadn't seen her father all day. Did he go to the fort? She was forced abruptly out of her reverie when she ran recklessly into someone. She really needed to stop doing that. "Jack!" she cursed him allowed. "Don't do that!"  
  
"'ey, don' place the blame on me, luv, I was actually watchin' where I was goin'," Jack replied coolly whilst gesturing to himself elaborately.  
  
"Then why didn't you move?!"  
  
"'cause you came on me from behind, luv."  
  
She looked at him, frustrated for a moment.  
  
"'ey, what'd I do?"  
  
"Nothing," she sighed as she began to rub her head. There was a long moment of silence in which Elizabeth began turning things over in her head. Stress. She began to feel hopelessly stressed and tears began to rim her sparkling eyes.  
  
"You alrigh', 'lizabeth?" Jack asked, with a sudden softness that surprised Elizabeth. She looked up at him to see a gentleness behind those usually foggy orbs of his.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I said, '_You alrigh'_, _'lizabeth_?'" he repeated, a bit vexed- which was unusual for Jack as well. "I jus' though' tha' after las' nigh' you'd be a bit traumatized, yeh know?"  
  
She gaped openly at him. So it wasn't a dream! It had happened! "Jack, come with me," Elizabeth hissed and lead him down the mansion stairs and hurriedly out the front door. After the shutting the door behind her with a quiet snap, she turned and grasped Jack firmly by the shoulders with her slender hands, her voice a bit desperate. "Listen, Jack- Will's gone."  
  
Jack looked at her a dully at first, then his face split into a wide smile and he let out a long, bubbly laugh.  
  
Elizabeth glared at him. "What are you laughing at?"  
  
"S'funny, 'cause I though' you said that Will's gone," he stated simply then let out another long laugh.  
  
Elizabeth slapped him smartly. "Stop that!"  
  
"Hey, I did_ not_ deserve that!"  
  
She slapped him again. "Listen to me!… Something happened last night-"  
  
"I know, luv,"Jack interrupt coolly placing a very rough and tanned hand atop her delicate lips. "Jus' though' it funny 'ow you would inform of tha' if I already knew. S'not like it wasn't obvious."  
  
"So… so you saw all of it, didn't you?"  
  
"All of wha'?"  
  
"The lights and the shadows and… wait, you didn't see that little spectacle, did you?"  
  
Jack stretched his lips tight into a thin line and shrugged. "Depends on which one tha' would be, ay?"  
  
"It's the one…" Elizabeth blushed a bit. "The one of me and Will… one year ago."  
  
Jack arched an eyebrow and looked at her funny. "M'sorry, luv, but I haven' a clue what you're  
  
talkin' 'bou'."  
  
Elizabeth sighed with relief at first, but then she looked back at Jack with her look of bewilderment. "Wait, you didn't see that little vision? It was of me and Will .…" She looked at him with her eyebrows raised as she waited for Jack to jump and go , '_Oh_, _yeah_! _Tha_' _spectacle_! I_ remember- rum must've gotten to me head_.'  
  
But he didn't. He just looked at her as if she was mad. "Sorry, luv, but the only vision I remember seein' las' nigh'- besides yer lovely face, o' course-" she shot him a glare "- was a vision o' the firs' time I sailed the _Pearl_." He heaved a dreamy sigh as he gazed out into space. "Aye, I remember it like t'was yesterday-"  
  
"Jack!"  
  
"Sorry. I'm bloody shuttin' up."  
  
She cleared her throat slightly and then changed the tone of her voice to something much more business like. "So, lets get this all straightened out. You came into the drawing room and saw Will and I but no governor, correct?"  
  
"Aye."   
  
"You wanted to tell us something-"  
  
"Aye."  
  
"But then the lights went out and these strange glowing lights appeared out of nowhere-"  
  
"Aye."  
  
"You looked into the orb-"  
  
"Aye."  
  
"And you saw me and Will."  
  
Jack opened his mouth in a smile and then clamped it shut and shook his head. "No."  
  
She threw him a bemused expression.  
  
"I already told you, _I _saw the firs' time I sailed the_ Pearl_."  
  
Her confusion deepened. "Wait… was it something that had really happened to you? Like a memory?"  
  
"Aye, tha' t'was, luv. An' a mighty fine one, at that," Jack sighed, a look of wistfulness reflecting in his black, kohl-lined eyes.  
  
It began to make _some_ sense. What Elizabeth had witnessed was a memory as well- it had really happened, only she was watching it from the point of view of another person. It was a strange feeling.… "So… so, do you think that what we all saw when we looked into those light things was all different and a memory?"  
  
"That sounds 'bou' right," Jack agreed casually.  
  
"Hm… that's odd.… But anyways," she had decided to continue with the evening's events- they weren't getting anywhere if they argued over those accursed things- they weren't even sure of what they were, "when the memory was in the middle of its… presentation, it suddenly was swept away, right?"  
  
"Too true."  
  
"And then the strange lights on the walls with the shadows came, everything went black, the lights came on-"  
  
"An' Will was gone without a trace," Jack finished for her. "Oh yes, darlin'. I saw t'all. M'afraid that t'was all too real for either of our likin's."  
  
She flinched at how he put it. It was true. She had been hoping upon hope that it would all have been a horrible nightmare, but… "Jack," she began thoughtfully, "you wanted to tell us something before the lights had gone out.… Could you tell me now?"  
  
Jack looked at her, doubtfully for a moment and Elizabeth found this look odd. It was as if he was sizing her up or something- deciding if she was worthy to hear what he was about to say. He stared at her in this manner for a long time, his eyes squinted with a strange air of suspicion until she felt like squirming from the discomfort his gaze was beginning to cause. "Alrigh'," he finally stated slowly, not losing that suspicious look. "Bu' you'll have to keep quiet an' not speak until I'm done and you mus' _especially_ not inform anyone 'bout what you're 'bout to hear, savvy?"  
  
She nodded earnestly. Suddenly, a bit of the child in her began to spark back to life- the part of her that had that ridiculous sense of adventure that had sprung inside of her as she secretly turned up her lamp and read deep into the night about one of the most fascinating things she could get her young mind on: pirates. But these stories were about good pirates verses the bad. Pirates like Blackheart fighting against pirates that were like the famous Calico Jack Rackman. Pirates like Barbossa fighting against pirates like Will Turner and Jack Sparrow. The pirates Elizabeth had known as a young child were dashing swashbucklers, who fought against the pillagers and plunderers and only broke the laws when they were wrong or for the sake of love and friendship. Her pirates were heroes. The stories were adventures, where the good captain would sword fight wicked fights with the evil pirate, pulling incredibly skillful tricks like climbing up into the rigging and fighting on the spars. They were love stories, where a beautiful girl was taken away and her lover would come after. They were mysteries full of questions: "Why didn't that man die?" "Where did the ship sink and how?" "Where did that pirate ship come from?" But the best ones were the ghost stories....  
  
She had lost her taste for such stories a long time ago, when she had had her dreams shattered by the truth behind pirates. Her governess had given her a book on pirates when she had discovered her deep love for them and their adventures: but this book wasn't a child's storybook. It was a history books, filled with facts on the reality of pirates. They were murderers, rapists, kidnapers, thieves, liars… the only pirates that truly existed were the evil pirates from her stories- her heroes had never existed. And it didn't help that a few years later, she had to experience this evil side to her childhood idols.  
  
"You'll wanna sit down, luv," Jack commented lightly, "S'a long story." They sat on the front steps of her home and Jack began to tell his tale. "Well, I s'pose it happened 'bout six months ago-"  
  
"Oh, Jack?" Elizabeth quickly cut in. Jack threw her a look of utmost vexation at being interrupted so cruelly. She smiled timidly. "Sorry, it's just, could you… stick to the truth? Please? I don't want you to try and impress me with one of your silly adventures, I just want to know what happened to Will."  
  
He looked at her in an angrily thoughtful manner, chewing the inside of his cheek softly. He wasn't thrilled with the suggestion, Elizabeth could see it in his eyes. So she batted her eye lashes, pouted her rosy lips and made those jewels for some eyes really sparkle with earnest pleading. "Please Jack?"  
  
His eyebrows couldn't possibly have gotten any lower. He threw her a grudging look, chewing harder on his cheek and crossing his arms firmly across his chest. They stared at each other with their individual and unique gazes, both determined to break the other. Man verses Woman, who's will would prevail? Finally, Elizabeth knitted her eyebrows into the saddest expression she could manage and Jack rolled his eyes heavenward. "Oh, alrigh'- but as long as I get to tell you my version later, savvy? S'much more interesting."  
  
She grinned. "I promise."  
  
"Alrigh'." He cleared his throat as he faced forward and leaned his forearms on his knees. "Like I said, I s'pose it happened 'bout six months ago… actually, no. Tha's a lie. In truth, it began almos' the instant I set foot on the _Black Pearl_, righ' after yer William had almos' managed to save me own skin. I get on the _Pearl _an' me crew gives me command of 'er once again withou' a fuss! Wonderful bunch, really. So we sail back to Isla de Muerte, grab some booty an' then make our merry way to Tortuga to 'ave a drink or two… or… ten."  
  
Elizabeth gave him a stern look, but he ignored it. By now he was facing her and making elaborate hand gestures as he spoke.  
  
"Anyways, we get to Tortuga an' I'm lookin' at Anamaria an' I get thinkin', '_Yeh know_, _I still owe tha' girl a boat_._ After all_, _she gave me back the _Pearl.' Now, bein' the great cap'n tha' I am, what do I do? I take me earnin's and I go and buy the lass a sturdy new fishin' boat."  
  
"The boat you stole," Elizabeth pointed out.  
  
"Hm? Ah, yes! The boat I stole."  
  
"Why did you steal her boat, Jack?"  
  
"I'm gettin' to tha', luv. Jus' be patient- yeh promised yeh wouldn' interrupt an' here yeh are doin' it anyway!"  
  
"Sorry."   
  
Jack smirked. "Yeah.… So, I buy Anamaria a new fishin' boat. We drink an' be merry, but our pockets aren't exactly bottomless. So after a few days and nights, the crew rendezvouses at the _Pearl_ an' we plan to go back to Isla de Muerte. We get there, but as we pull into the ship graveyards, we see two other ships anchored in front of our cave entrance." Elizabeth resisted the strong urge to ask a question at this remark. " Now, we fin' that a bit bloody odd because _we_ are the only ones who know where the isle is in the firs' place. So I take out me spyglass an' as I look at said ships, I fin' out somethin' quite interestin': I sunk one o' those ships eleven years ago."  
  
Elizabeth again tried to resist commenting or questioning Jack, but the urge was too strong this time. "What was the ship called?"  
  
"She was called the '_Abyss_' an' she was a beauty. But I couldn' allow her to be roamin' the Caribbean."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
Jack sighed. "You're forcin' me to digress here, but I guess s'sort of important tha' you know this." He scratched the back of his head and then stretched his arms and back before he recommenced.  
  
"Will isn't the firs' one in the Turner line to be gifted with his hands, yeh know. I knew his father, Bill Turner, since we were li'l children."  
  
Elizabeth's face split into a wide grin. "You did?"  
  
"Yes, now shut up."  
  
She glared coldly at him.  
  
"Anyways, one of the reasons that the _Black Pearl_ is so dear to me is because she's…well, a lot more special than you could know.… Bill was a carpenter. A ship builder and architect to be precise- an' a damn good one at tha'. He designed some of the fastest, strongest ships that the Royal Navy had seen in 'er day."  
  
"Like what? I should know some of them."   
  
Jack gave her a sly grin. "Like the _Columbus_, the _Expedition_, … the _Dauntless_."  
  
"What?!" a happily disbelieving look spread on her face. "He made the _Dauntless_?"  
  
"Designed it. He _designed_ it, darlin'. An' yes. The _H.M.S. Dauntless_, current pride of the Royal Navy is, indeed, a Turner craft."  
  
Elizabeth was almost giggling with delight at this strange new revelation. It was such a strange coincidence- a ship that Will's father had envisioned was the same ship that saved his son from the sea and became the scene where he met his future wife. How peculiar!  
  
"Now," Jack pulled her from her quiet thoughts, "I'm gonna cut the story short since we need to get goin' to find said Turner's boy.… Eventually, Bill designed for me the _Black Pearl_. Why? Well, we both wanted to get out of that crack in England an' bein' so close to the sea, we eventually jus' couldn' resist her seductive call anymore. So we earned enough money to fund her construction, ran away to Spain an' hired some men to build her there. This is the part tha' we made a big mistake."  
  
Jack shook his head mournfully. "Them Spanish sailors, they've been wantin' to take over England's reign of power of the sea for years an' years. When they saw the _Pearl_, they figured that they should build a whole fleet of copies. Bill an' I were 'gainst that- the _Pearl_ was to remain ours, only ours, an' one of a kind. Tha's why we named it the _Black Pearl_, she's one of her own. So, after we gave 'em their money, we packed up and sailed away on the _Pearl_ never to see 'em again.…But we forgot one very important thing.…"  
  
"That you're Captain Jack Sparrow?" Elizabeth joked.  
  
"No," Jack shook his head solemnly. "Somethin' much more important than that, luv: the _Pearl's_ building plans. By the time we realized they were missin', we returned to find tha' they had a ship under construction tha' was already near enough to completion tha' they didn't need the plans anymore. So we came an' took 'em, burnt 'em, but they had already nearly finished this new ship- a modified version of the _Pearl_, if you will. They called 'er _El Abismo_ or, translated o' course,-"  
  
"_The Abyss_."  
  
"Tha's right. So, to cut it short as I promised: after she had set sail, she began to wreck havoc on English settlements in the Caribbean. No Navy ship was a match for her- either they were strong enough but too slow or fast enough but too weak. So we tracked her down an' after a big battle- thanks to Bill's ship savvy-, we sunk her and began our reputations as true pirates of the Caribbean."  
  
"So, wait… you sunk the _Abyss_ because you didn't want a second _Black Pearl_ in the Caribbean?"  
  
"Tha's right."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"I already told you: Bill an' I wanted the _Black Pearl_ to be one of a kind an' special…. The kind of ship that he could pass down to his son when the time came."  
  
There was a silence as Elizabeth looked at Jack with an unreadable expression. She was studying him. He was speaking now with the same air about him that he had used when she was marooned with him on their little island for a day. It was an air of respect and love, and Elizabeth could see the fire of it burning in his eyes. "Bill…" he spoke more carefully now, his words less slurred, " he wasn't a pirate because he wanted the money, 'lizabeth. He wasn't a pirate because he needed to feel the wild rush of adventure when two ships collide or when you sack a town- he was a pirate because he needed to feel the wind on his face and taste the salt of the sea.… Bootstrap Bill Turner was a family man, an' everyone who knew 'im knew that. M'not sure if Will remembers him much, but he loved Will and Will's mother more than anythin'. An' he wanted more than anythin' for Will to one day stand at his side at the _Pearl'_s helm, sharin' the love he had for the freedom an ocean can give you.… The ship was meant to be a place of refuge for the Turner line, but Bill gave it to me since I didn' have a family- a home.… She's my home.…"  
  
He was silent as he shifted his weight. "Bein' a pirate, you don' really have a home, yeh know? You sail from Portugal to the Philipines to Singapore to Brazil- yer never in one place for too long. Tha's why we don' have homes. But it's only human to want to have one- to belong somewhere. Bill did, Will does an' now, thanks to the both of them, I do.… I owe 'em. I owe 'em both.…"  
  
They were silent for another long moment as they began to think these last few words over. A home….   
  
"Jack," Elizabeth spoke. "What happened after you reached Isla de Muerte?"  
  
"Hm? Oh, right! I forgot 'bout that! Well, we find out that the ship is indeed the _Abyss_, the other we can' see but don' care 'bout since s'much smaller and more run down. S'not important. Anyways, we debate whether or not to attack it, but s'night time an' yeh know Isla de Muerte- s'always foggy. The ships disappear. So we shrug it off and go in to get our treasure an' hunt down our trespassers, but when we enter the cave, we meet a sight that we don' expect at all: s'all gone. All the silk, pearls, gems, gold, paintings, pots, pans, vases- even the chest of Aztec gold. See, we were expectin' to be missin' somethin' but not all of it. T'was all taken from us."  
  
"Just like that?"  
  
"Jus' like that. An' another thing was wrong: Barbossa's skeleton was missin'."  
  
Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably at the thought of Barbossa. She hated him and he still lingered in her nightmares somewhere. She loathed to admit it, as she was usually such a strong person and never really got frightened, but after Barbossa, her nightmares had come more frequently and were more terrifying.  
  
"So," Jack continued, "findin' this all too suspicious, we head back to Tortuga an' ask around to see if anyone had seen a ship by the name _El Abismo_. No one did. So we pack up the _Pearl _and were gettin' ready ship off the next mornin' when I remember tha' I had a weddin' to attend. So I snuck off the ship and temporarily borrowed Anamaria's boat without asking so I could come see you guys an' then climb back aboard the _Pearl _today. However, I'm afraid that instead of finding the _Abyss_, she found us… las' night."  
  
"Why didn't you just excuse yourself from our wedding? You didn't have to come," Elizabeth reassured.  
  
"Well, since Bill couldn't have been here, I decided to be here for 'im. Will's 'is son, after all an' Bill was like my brother.… Besides," he gave a hearty grin of gold and silver, "I can never resist the call of endless drinks- 'specially when they're free."  
  
She smirked slightly. "Yes, well Jack, along with getting drunk you also sunk Anamaria's boat and now owe her a _third _one because of it."  
  
Jack gave her an abashed look. "How'd you know 'bout the first one?"  
  
Her smirk deepened. "Both Will and Ana weren't too opposed to informing me on the events that took place at Tortuga's dock, Jack. How could you sink her second boat?"  
  
"'ey, I didn't sink it- Norrington did."  
  
She chuckled but her smile faded as she began to stare out into the distance, twisting her ring around her finger. Will had never spoken of his father to Elizabeth before. She had heard once before that he was the spitting image of him, but that was the furthest her knowledge of him had expanded… until now. She began to wonder about Will. How much did he think about his father and miss him?… '_It_ _must be awful to lose your family at so young_.…'  
  
"An' what 'ave we here?" Jack suddenly asked silently as he stood, his neck craned toward the door. It was then that Elizabeth noticed something that she should have before. She was simply too frantic to pay attention to any small detail of things at the time, however. There was an elegant silver dirk embedded into the mansion door and a piece of parchment attached to it.   
  
She became alarmed at first and then excited. Perhaps it was a ransom? She stood and approached the pirate captain as his dark eyes ran over the paper quickly. "Jack?"  
  
Jack's face began to change to something between a smirk and a sneer. It was as if he found it amusing in a disgusting way. "I can't believe it! The bastard!" he hissed to himself, forgetting that Elizabeth was still present.  
  
"What is it, Jack?"  
  
"Dunno yet, I've only read the salutation."  
  
"Jack!" she sighed with exasperation, rolling her eyes heavenward. She knew what was coming.  
  
"What? The man addresses me as_ Mister _Sparrow, not Captain! It's an outrage!"  
  
"Just read the bloody note, Jack!"  
  
Jack jumped her sudden use of fowl language and nodding, he turned back to the paper. After reading through it, he sat there in thought for two seconds and then looked back up at her, a strange light illuminating his eyes. "You may find this helpful," he sneered as he held out the paper for her to take.  
  
"Let me see!" she demanded a bit more frantically than she intended as she snatched the note from his dirty hands.

'_Mister Sparrow_:  
  
_We have your governor and the young gentleman in our care_. _Should this charming little island wish to have either of them back safely and in one piece_, _I suggest you follow the instructions given to you very carefully_.   
  
_You are to meet us with the Black Pearl on the island of St. Lucia in three weeks_. _No naval officers are to come_. _Should you chose to deny this request, the boy will be inflicted with some_… _anguish_. _We have special business to discuss, as you possess something I very much desire_.  
  
_You will receive further instruction upon your arrival to St. Lucia_, _no sooner and no later_.

_ Humbly awaiting your arrival_,  
_J_. _P_. _F_.  
_Captain_'  
  
Elizabeth's eyes went wide as a sudden realization hit her: her father was alive.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Okay! Sorry for the long wait. This chapter went into some serious revisions and is, as a result, about two times long than it was originally. I like it much better, though. I'll go as fast as I can to get Chapter Four up. Again, I'm revising that and it could take a while.  
  
Thank you so much for your reviews, they've been most helpful. If you could, spread the word about my fic to people whom you think will like it. I don't want my work to be left in the dust by the masterpieces of "The Curse of the White Sword" and "The Measure of a Man." (Which I am anxiously waiting for the next updates on.... Grrrr.) If you haven't read those, I _highly_ recommend them. Mine is nothing compared to them!  
  
**Quiet Infinity-** I'm glad you liked my writes of the Governor and Jack. I was a bit nervous I was going over the top but I guess I didn't! My goal is to get the characters as real and close to how Ted Elliot, Terry Rossio, Gore Verbinski and the actors would want them portrayed. It's hard. I'm attempting that with the plot as well.  
  
**Takada Saiko-** Put on your seatbelts if you're still on the edge, sweetheart. It's gonna be a bumpy ride! I'm glad you also enjoyed Jack last chapter. As you can see, your question about Anamaria's boat is answered here.  
  
**Opranoodlemantra-** You are so sweet! Thank you for your encouraging compliments. I'm glad you liked my portrayals of the characters.

**Next time:** Jack comes up with a plan to save Will and Governor Swann; meanwhile the said are having problems of their own....


	4. First Steps

**Chapter 3**  
_"First Steps"_

The Commodore massaged his forehead vigorously with the tips of his fingers, arms propped up on the table by his elbows as he stared down at the rumpled paper heatedly, as if it were sitting there, taunting him mercilessly. Yes, Elizabeth and Jack had brought some hope to a hopeless situation by discovering this note. It stated which ship it was that took Governor Swann and Will Turner and where it would be on a specific date; in fact, it seemed horrifically stupid to give away such crucial information. The commodore could easily ambush the ship and take back the governor. That was where the problem laid: it was simply too easy.  
  
"There has to be a catch," Norrington muttered softly, to himself.  
  
Elizabeth looked at him for a moment, the smile from the twinkle of hope of saving her father and Will disappearing slowly. That wasn't what she wanted to hear. She must've not heard him correctly. "What?"  
  
He closed his eyes and cursed himself inside his head- he hadn't realized he had said that out loud. Now he needed to clarify. "There's all the information that I need held in this one simple note, Elizabeth," the commodore replied looking up at Elizabeth with a small trace of distress in his eyes and tapping the paper as he spoke of it. "It's too much to trust. Usually it takes days, weeks and even _months_ of investigation and questioning before we gather enough information to go after the ship and yet we have it all right here, mere hours after the incident."   
  
"For all we know it could be a trap and they could attempting to lure us into it," Lieutenant Gillette finished for him from over his shoulder.  
  
"Not if they knew that you'd think like that," she replied a bit encouragingly, unwilling to accept any excuses in her current state. "They might be expecting you to think it's a trap if they gave you all the information and, therefore, could be using that to their advantage by expecting you not to come for them."  
  
"But we don't know that," Norrington replied firmly and a bit more angrily than he intended for it to be.  
  
It was visibly apparent that that had slightly brought her down inside and was enough to get her to think things through carefully. She bit her lip as Jack leaned against the corner near the door, twirling the silver dagger in his fingers, quietly, for once and ignoring the threatening looks that Murtogg and Mullroy were attempting to give him. They had been called into the office because they had been two of the only people who had witnessed the _Abyss_ first hand.  
  
"Well," she spoke again, "well, what if they were just incredibly stupid? Half the pirates I was with on the _Black Pearl_ weren't exactly geniuses, Commodore. Perhaps they never considered the idea that Jack Sparrow would reveal this paper to Commodore Norrington?"  
  
"That could be, but are you willing to bet your father's life on it?"  
  
"I have to try!" she shouted back, becoming angry and frustrated once again. "I would rather lose my father trying than find out he's dead because I abandoned him!"  
  
The commodore combated her shouts of rage with arguments of his own also in a loud volume, standing as he did so to add emphasis to his point. "_Not_ if you are at all concerned for the well-being of your father and husband! The note states specifically that we are _not_ to follow or they will bring harm to Will and I don't doubt that your father will suffer in a very similar matter, regardless of the fact that they did not mention it!"  
  
"And do you think they'll hold a feast in their honor if we don't?!" Elizabeth's gentle features were contorted in rage at the man's misunderstanding, at his unwillingness to help her do for her loved ones as Will had once done for her. Elizabeth Turner held a fiery spirit, wild and of its own will and attempts to restrain it only caused it to grow and explode with wrath, making her nigh untamable. In fact, Norrington had noticed that there were several situations when she lost her temper and her father couldn't even hush her- only Will had discovered the secret to calming the storm."They'll probably suffer all the same if we do _not_ follow, and you know that as well as anybody!"  
  
"Yes, Miss S-" he caught himself, "_Mrs_. _Turner_, I know and understand that very well, indeed.…" Commodore Norrington let his face drop downward and he placed his hands on his desk, leaning his weight against it with a sigh of exasperation. If he got through this alive, he swore that he was going to retire. Conflicts that he had to fix and deal with were becoming more and more complicated- to the point where the commodore wanted to start tearing his hair out and eat his wig _and_ his hat. First the governor's daughter disappears and it evolves into a big rescue and gallivanting after cursed pirates- not any normal pirates, no! It had to be _cursed _pirates. Now the governor himself was gone with his son-in-law and the situation wasn't as much the dangerous, life-or-death situation that he was used to as it was sticky and tricky- like a riddle. It had to be thought through carefully and Elizabeth's determined fire wasn't helping.   
  
She, like Turner, could be quite rash when something drastic occurred and when she wanted something she would run right in to take it after simply skimming through the situation in her mind. But that was where she was unlike Turner. Will didn't even think about the situation at all, his brain simply echoed with one thing: his goal. And it didn't matter what dangers lied in front of him, his way of doing it was to run right into harm's way before realizing he could've walked around the situation. But, in a way, it wasn't Turner's fault. In other situations he was quite focused and well thought out. No, it wasn't his fault, it was the recklessness that inevitably accompanies the lover's heart.  
  
Taking another calming breath, he continued. "I do not believe they will be treated like kings while aboard their ship, but I believe they will be treated with more courtesy if we heeded their requests. We may even be able to have Mister Sparrow-" Jack flinched at the use of _mister_ "- persuade them into setting the price for a ransom, which we will, of course, pay, should that come." He sunk into his seat.  
  
"Commodore, these are not normal English gentlemen simply wanting some spare coins in their pouches," Elizabeth pressed, walking toward the table and leaning over it, emphasizing her words, "these are _pirates_, and not the sort of gentlemen pirates that Will or Captain Sparrow are." Jack, still in the corner and passively listening, beamed upon hearing someone address him properly. "The only reason Barbossa and his crew treated me with any courtesy at all, was because the curse bade them and _made_ them bring me to no harm. You can't trust them."  
  
The commodore looked as if he were stuck in an awful situation. And he was. He was not lying to Elizabeth, he could never lie to her. As absurd as it might have seemed to most people and, regardless of how many times he tried to force himself otherwise, he still cared for her. It was no longer passionate love, he had come to a closure on such thoughts and feelings for her in that area. It was more like the love that had formed between Jack and Will- a brotherly love. He now cared for her the way a protective elder brother would for his younger sister and, unavoidably, Mr. Turner had somehow managed to worm his way into the commodore's tender heart as a surrogate younger brother.   
  
He had grown to accept and recognize their atypical but remarkably sturdy and profound love for one another as a rare and beautiful thing- the sort of thing that you let be because, in the end, you just know it's right and deserves to be kept alive in a world where everything is cold and self-centered. Like two intertwined roses- one red and one white- planted amongst a bed of weeds, if one destroyed the harmony and beauty a love like theirs held, the world would become just a patch of worthless disarray where there had once been a lovely garden, empty and meaningless. Now, not for the first time, he had been handed the hoe and the spade and was responsible for the fate of this inexplicable virtue- he could not let the roses die.  
  
But what could he do? There were so many 'maybe's and 'if's and 'could be's … it was all just a horrible game of rolling the dice. He couldn't afford to lose what had been placed upon the table, he _needed_ to roll the right number- maybe even if it meant acquiring some loaded dice. However, he needed there to be nowhere else to turn before he walked down that dark alley.…  
  
"James," Elizabeth's voice suddenly seemed like the gentle coo of a dove, but the sound of it being broken could be traced oh so slightly. She walked around the table and knelt herself at his feet, taking hold of his armrest. "Please.… I have to try. I just have to.…"  
  
He didn't respond, nor did he look at her. Yes, he knew she had to try, but they had to figure out the right gamble to play the game properly. He looked up at Jack, who looked back him with an expression that suggested he was fine, entertaining himself with listening to the conversation. In fact, the relaxed composure that the pirate held himself in would have seemed suspicious to the commodore, had he not been Jack Sparrow.  
  
Elizabeth took his silence as a rejection. She sighed as shining tears began to well in her eyes. She began to think of words that could describe her agony, her ultimate need to have this done. It just had to be… "…When… when you are given a chance to achieve something- anything you need or desire- you can't just let it walk away without trying, even if it's the smallest chance possible.… You'll end up regretting it and hating yourself for the rest of your life.…   
  
"If I just stand by and let this pass me by without even attempting to bring them back, I will never forgive myself. It's not some simple thing like not buying that sword you want so bad- that's just an object. You'll get over it. These are _people_ that I love more than anything… because of that, my soul will never be at rest until I know what has happened or what will happen to both of them.   
  
"Can't you understand it's not a matter of 'I want your help?' I _need_ your help.… I'm crippled without it."  
  
The commodore looked back into her eyes, and her face. Pain was etched into every inch of it to the point it seemed irreversible. He had a hole in the pit of his stomach, his throat was clenched and his heart twisted. He felt awful, wishing that this was some uncomfortable nightmare or that he could undo the problem that lay before them. But it wasn't that simple. '_Nothing in life is simple_.' "Elizabeth,… you must understand… I want to _help_, not make matters worse. This isn't a game, we are gambling with the governor's well-being and, possibly, his life. It is essential that we are not rash."   
  
"Bu-"  
  
He put his hand up as a signal for her to stop her mouth from running, as he was not finished. "Never did I say that we were _abandoning_ him. Did I ever say that, Gillette?"  
  
"No sir," Gillette confirmed, hiding his surprise at the sudden gentle tone in his commander's normally harsh voice.  
  
"All I am asking is that you be patient until we have found the safest option for your father. We _must not be rash_."  
  
Elizabeth let her face fall after Norrington had pressed his last sentence. She couldn't wait. It wasn't an option for her. She had to find her father… she had to find _Will_. She would _die_ without him. She needed him even more than she needed her father. It wasn't that she didn't love her father. Truly, she loved him very much. But her father was just someone very close to her and Will was her second half, her soul, her world. She felt empty without him… incomplete.  
  
"Elizabeth, look at me,"the commodore stood and cupped her fragile face in his right hand. It was funny, really. She was so complex that most of the time he could not tell what she was thinking. But he could always tell whenever her thoughts dwelt on her precious blacksmith. Always. "I swear to you, I will find your husband. And I'm going to do the best I can to make sure that he is alive and as unharmed as possible when he returns to you. You must trust me- I am only trying to do what is best for the well-being of him and wholeheartedly intend to bring him home to you. I promise."   
  
Amongst her despair, he could sense that she was relieved as well. A tear escaped her vividly sparkling brown eyes, trickling down her cheek with a wet testimony of its passing left behind it and Norrington allowed a half-smile to twitch at the corner of lips. It was easy to see why he had once fallen in love with her. She was so free-spirited, so alive, so pure and so beautiful. William Turner was indeed a lucky man,… and he was glad for him.  
  
"You promise?" she asked, quietly.  
  
"I swear on my father's watery grave," he swore, allowing a small and yet warm smile to grace his normally cold and stoic face.  
  
"Commodore," Jack put in suddenly, pocketing the dirk and waltzing in his drunken like fashion around the table- to Norrington's dismay. He leaned an arm on Commodore Norrington's shoulder, who grunted his disapproval. "Commodore, it seems to me that, should you attempt to pursue the Abyss, the Governor and Mr. Turner would have to take the consequences."  
  
Gillette snorted aloud, not at all attempting to stifle it.  
  
"Yes.…" The commodore had a very disgruntled look on his face as he counted to ten in his head, dropping the hand that had cupped Elizabeth's face. "We've only been talking about that for the last half an hour, Mr. Sparrow."  
  
"_Captain_. And, yes I know that, but I'm trying to make a point. Because, you see, the only way that such would happen to the duo is if _they_- aboard the _Abyss_-" he made an exuberant hand gesture, "were to see _you_," he lightly pricked the tip of the commodore's nose with his index finger (which put the commander off quite a bit, I must tell you), "following them."  
  
There was a long silence. Elizabeth, Gillette, Murtogg and Mullroy were looking at Jack with questioning expressions and the commodore was desperately trying to keep his cool and ignore Jack's badgering voice and disgusting breath. '_1_…_2_…_3_…' But he couldn't help but puzzle over the words and wonder what Jack was getting at at the same time.  
  
Jack's face began to fall as no one exclaimed anything about his pure brilliance, but just stood there, staring with bemused faces. He decided to repeat. "That's only _if they see you following them_."  
  
Norrington, who had been grudgingly listening, suddenly understood what Jack was proposing, but it wasn't like he hadn't thought about that already. He grabbed the wrist to the arm that Jack had settled on his shoulder and harshly removed it. "What are you saying, Sparrow? That we must hide the _Dauntless_ and the _Interceptor _under a blanket whilst shadowing the _Abyss_? They'll know we're following them, you can't hide a ship from another ship's view- unless there's fog or some sort of other natural element at your advantage."  
  
"True," Jack said with a big nod as he slipped his arm from Norrington's grip and walked back to the front of the desk, "but s'not a matter of what's possible and what's not. S'a matter of what's i_mprobable_ and what's not."  
  
"I'm afraid that I don't understand what you're saying."  
  
Jack sat on the desk and gestured with his finger at a point as he spoke. "S'not probable to literally hide your ship. You can' do it. In fact, I'm gonna take back what I jus' said. Without fog an' the natural elemen's you was talkin' 'bout, s' both improbable an' _impossible_.… But that's only if you visualize it the way you are now. Truth is, you can hide a whole ship, y'just gotta see it, mate."  
  
Commodore cocked an eyebrow at Jack. "And you see it?"  
  
"Aye. I see it, alright."  
  
"How's that?" Gillette asked after he had let out a scoff, not caring in the least for how it would affect Jack.  
  
Fortunately, Jack did not care. Jack smirked, ignoring the deriding tone in the lieutenant's voice, and then put a mock-worried look upon his visage. "Well, actually, before I tell you… yeh know, my pardon will be up any momen' today, an' I really can' help you if it fails me-"  
  
"Alright, we'll extend it!" Norrington snapped, become irate once again. "Now get on with your so-called 'brilliant idea.'"  
  
"Well," Jack took out the dagger once again and began twirling it in his fingers as he spoke, "the way you're thinkin' is too obvious. O' course, one way of hidin' is completely coverin' oneself from the viewer's eye, but as I've become more an' more… infamous, I've learned tha' there's another, more efficient way of hidin' oneself. And that is, o' course, a li'l trick that I like to call, 'façade,' 'veneer,' or, what you may call 'disguise.' Savvy?"  
  
Gillette raised another very skeptical eyebrow at Jack, stifling a laugh. He spoke with an irritatingly haughty tone to his voice that made Jack wanna gag- but he didn't show it. "You cannot disguise the _Dauntless_, Mister Sparrow. A man-o-war is bound to be only in the possession of the Royal Navy-"  
  
"Ah, but ' o said it 'ad to be the _Dauntless_?" Jack returned. He looked to the commodore with a twinkle in his eyes and several from his teeth. "What of the new _Interceptor_ you 'ad built? Small, fas'… a good pirate ship, really. An' then all you'd 'ave to do is change the wardrobe of you an' your men, I'll teach you the basics of what pirates appear to do whilst at sea and there you'll have it: you're very own mock-pirate ship!"  
  
"But pirates fight pirates," Elizabeth put in, becoming very involved in the idea. "That won't help us get any closer without risking some form of damage at all."  
  
"Well, 'o said that it _had_ to be a pirate ship? What if we appeared to be, say, a merchant ship? You could disguise the _Interceptor_ and follow jus' out of the _Abyss_' sight, far behind the _Black Pearl_. Eh? What d'you say to that?" He had introduced his plan boisterously, slapping Norrington behind the back heartily as he finished it off.  
  
A silence filled the room as the commodore quietly considered this proposal to himself. Was it possible that, if executed correctly, it just might work? Perhaps.… "… It's quite a …_clever_ idea, Mr. Sparrow. And I admit… it could work. But we are still faced with one key problem."  
  
"And what could that possibly be, my dear commodore?"  
  
"We have no means by which to track this ship. Should something go wrong- per say, the ship never shows up- we cannot successfully track a ship that we have no information about except the name."  
  
Jack grinned another toothy grin as he drove the dagger into the hard wood surface of the commodore's desk. The commodore groaned mentally- he had just gotten that desktop repaired of the damage Mr. Turner had inflicted upon it with his hatchet. "That's where you're completely hopeless without me, mate. Jus' meet me here early tomorrow morning with the _Interceptor_ donning 'er new pain' job, an' your men a new wardrobe." He gave a toothy grin of gold and silver. "If yeh trus' me, you can' go wrong. 'Cause you've been forgettin' one very important thing, mate.… I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."

* * *

Blood. The first word that came to mind for Will was "blood." He tasted it so strongly it was unmistakable. He slowly began to awake from the silent world that envelops us in our gentle states of sleep and the taste was stronger with every passing second. Not only that, but there was pain. Pain like his body was an awful bruise. His head pulsated uncomfortably and his blood thumped loudly in his ears with every heart beat. Then he was cold.  
  
He did not want to open his eyes. He refused to. He knew where he was or, at least, he had a vague idea of where he was. What, with the gentle creaky rocking about, the muffled cry of the gulls over his head and distinct smell of salt and fish he knew he had to be on a boat and the thought was disquieting. He did not want to open his eyes. He refused to.… But, in the end, he knew he had to.  
  
Struggling with two sides of himself he managed to pry his eyelids apart and face what was before him: wood. He was facing the wall of whatever ship he was on or wherever he was. He groaned, knowing now he would have to move. But his limbs, every inch of his body felt like it could lie in that one position on his side for the rest of his natural life. Tired and desiring relief from the soreness that overcame his body, he finally began to sit up after a long period of just staring at his wall, wearily defiant.  
  
As he did sit up, the pain he felt about him intensified with his movement. He flinched but moved to a sitting position nonetheless. His head ached. From what he knew not, but he pressed his forehead against his palm in an attempt to make it lessen. It did not work. He rubbed his eyes.  
  
"Will, is that you?"  
  
His head shot up to the familiar voice. He looked about him. He was in the brig of a ship, dimly lit currently, and his vision was blurred in the manner it usually was after a long sleep. As his vision began to sharpen to what it should've been, his eyes caught the blur of a familiar shape directly across from him. He blinked a couple of times until the figure finally came into focus.  
  
"Governor?"  
  
The governor smiled quite nervously as he gave out a small sigh. "I had hoped it was you."  
  
"Governor, I thought you were dead!"  
  
Governor Swann looked a bit confused. "And I you, but who told you that absurd idea?"  
  
"Estella did, sir," Will replied without hesitation.  
  
Governor Swann frowned in reply to this. "Hm…. That's really most peculiar…. But, as you can see for yourself, I am perfectly alive and fairly well." He gave a reassuring smile to confirm this. "Although, I must admit, quite confused… and hungry."  
  
As if on cue, Will's stomach grumbled and let all formality that had been present to be thrown out the window… I mean, porthole. Will looked up at the governor and gave an embarrassed grin. "You and I both." He joined the governor in a quick chuckle before he let his thoughts drift away. Frankly, Will was also very puzzled. He remembered very distinctly being told by Estella that _the governor had been murdered in the drawing room_. Something strange was afoot and it didn't take a genius to realize it. '_Why_ _would Estella lie about something like this_?'   
  
The ship tilted a bit with a creak, allowing the sea to rock it in whatever direction she saw fit. Will yawned. "Where are we?"  
  
"We are on a ship."  
  
".…Well, I knew _that_," Will replied with a friendly smirk. "But, _what _ship? And why are we here?"  
  
Governor Swann frowned and took a seat on the floor, a bit hesitant to touch the thin dirt layer that lay on it, Will couldn't help but notice. "Both questions are of the like that I would love to have answered for myself."  
  
"What, you mean no one's spoken to you?"  
  
"No," the governor replied quietly, giving his wigged head a small shake but allowing an ever-so-subtle smile grow, regardless of his mood.  
  
Will sighed and tilted his back, leaning it against the back wall with a small bump, and he closed his eyes in stressful thought. "How long have we been here?"  
  
The governor's frown returned. "I'm not sure. I could only hope that it has just been a day or two and that Commodore Norrington has discovered our absence."  
  
"Well, of course he has-" Will assured, looking back up at his father-in-law, "you're the governor. You're an essential person when it comes to the well being of Port Royal."  
  
"Yes, but I do not have the power to know what was going on at the time of our kidnaping. For all we know, Port Royal could've been attacked by pirates once again just as much as it could have been left in peace. And the town could be burnt to the ground just as much as it could be still standing, Elizabeth and the other women taken just as much as they could be safely at home unharmed, and the commodore could be dead just as much as he could be alive. _We don't know_, as much as we despise admitting it."  
  
Will felt a slight bit ashamed and embarrassed for not thinking of that. What if they were taken away, but everything, every_one_ they once knew, loved and treasured had been put to some form of destruction or misuse? He shivered. Just thinking about Elizabeth being cruelly violated by lustful monsters sent shivers up his spine and made him rather nauseous. He shivered again and decided not to dwell on that, he needed to be able to think of other things. Things like how he was going to help the governor escape and get back to Port Royal to discover whether or not it was truthfully still standing.  
  
From somewhere in the back of his mind, a small question began to tinge out of nowhere. What did Will and Governor Swann have in common (besides that they were now father and son-in-law) that would appeal to … _anyone_? As he thought about it, he couldn't think of anything that brought them together- they just were suddenly related. Perhaps there was some connection that he did not know about? He sighed and let his head lean back onto the bulkhead again. Right now, he didn't want to think. He just wanted to rest, regardless of the fact he had just awoken.  
  
The fingers of his right hand began to unwittingly twist the wedding ring on his left hand and, as he found himself doing this, his thoughts returned to Elizabeth. She could take care of herself very well, Will knew that. After the last year's adventure, he had received permission from her father to teach her the art of swordplay as a form of self-defense, and she was a very fast learner. Yes, she could take care of herself… but still.… He let out a sigh of worry. _'Oh God_, _please let her be okay_.…'  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
Will opened his eyes and looked at the governor with a bemused expression. "What?"  
  
"I've gone and caused you needless distress. I apologize. I know how much you worry for Elizabeth's safety."  
  
Will shook his head. "No, you needn't apologize. What, with the way I worry about her, the thought probably would have crossed my mind eventually on its own. Besides, you care for her just as-" The ship jerked suddenly in the governor's cell's direction and Will slammed headlong into the bars of his cell.   
  
"Will! Are you alright?!"  
  
"Yeah," he groaned in reply as he rubbed his head where it had made its collision. "Just my pride.…" He sat himself down and looked at the governor- he had a worried look on his face. "You know, I find it ironic that I have fairly good sea legs, but I sit down and fall over because I don't have a good sea _bottom_."  
  
The governor laughed and Will grinned. Really, the governor was quite friendly. He had thought that getting on the man's good side would have taken a long while- possibly years, and here he was making him laugh without much effort and carrying out easy conversations. It felt quite good, actually. '_I'm doing it_, _Elizabeth_….'  
  
The door to the brig opened noisily on the spur of a moment and heavy footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs accompanied by a old man's raspy voice. "Come this way, Charlie."  
  
An old man with wispy white hair, stooped shoulders, ragged pirates' clothes and a face worn from years and years of salt spray and the sea's waves beating against his skin came hobbling down the steps, guiding a young boy with dark brown hair and bright blue eyes down the stairs. The lad appeared to be about thirteen years of age and, Will noted, had a red gash above his left eyebrow. He also looked quite grumpy as he dragged his feet behind the old man, obviously not to willing to be there. Will watched them with silent curiosity. Clearly, they weren't on any ordinary pirate ship.  
  
The old man sat the boy, who Will guessed was Charlie, down on a large rectangular object that was covered with a blanket- like a table with a tablecloth- and pulled out a cloth, a bowl of water, a bottle of rum and some bandages. "Now, you know better than to be pullin' bickers with Stripes, Charlie," the old man wheezed as he wet the cloth in the water and began to dab at the cut lightly.  
  
"S'not my fault," Charlie protested, furrowing his eyebrows in contempt.  
  
"Don't move yer brows, kid."  
  
Charlie relaxed his face and continued his excuse. "_He's_ the one who started it all- callin' my mother a bloody whore."  
  
The old man feebly shook his head in disapproval as he took out a bottle and applied a bit of the alcoholic liquid in it to a new clean cloth. "S'not the point. If yeh don' learn to control that temper o' yers, yer father is gonna have to leave yeh ashore with some grouchy cooking wench." He dabbed Charlie's cut with the cloth.  
  
"Ouch," Charlie hissed, pulling away from the old man's reach. "Bloody ell, Briggot, whadya put on that cloth anyway?"  
  
"Yeh watch yer language boy. We'll be havin' none of that from the Cabin Boy."  
  
"What's it matter? The whole crew talks that way and we never see you comin' down on them."  
  
"You hold yer tongue.… Now, hold still."  
  
Charlie rolled his eyes and slouched into a motionless position as Briggot began to dab away at the gash, kicking his feet to and fro as he waited. The cloth that had been spread over the table began to move in reaction to Charlie's dangling limbs and at one time moved enough for Will to catch a glimpse of the table underneath. He sneered as he caught sight not of wood, but of rock. That wasn't a table, in fact, it appeared to be something quite different… the Aztec stone chest. Will didn't need more than a second to recognize the exotic designs on the sides and, as he pinpointed exactly what it could be that Charlie was sitting on, he knew that nothing good could come out of the situation. If the curse had been such hell when Barbossa's crew took just a piece of gold each out of the chest, how bad would it be if the whole lot was taken, stone chest and all? '_This can't be good_. _I really need to get us out of here_.…'  
  
Briggot pulled out a threaded needle and gripped Charlie's chin firmly in his left hand, holding the needle poised but frightfully shakily. Charlie's eyes went slightly wider than they previously were as Briggot approached his face with a very tremulous and alarmingly unsteady needle. "Now, hold still, Charlie."  
  
"Uh, sir-"  
  
Charlie and Briggot looked at Will in perfect synchronization, which made him a bit shy at first but he re-discovered his courage. He cleared his throat. This may have been his chance to get out of this ruddy cell. He needed a better look at that stone… thing. "I- er- could do that … if you would like."  
  
The two went agape at him and Will became very uneasy.  
  
"Bloody ell!" Charlie gasped.  
  
Briggot thumped him on the head.  
  
"Ow!"  
  
Will became confused at their odd reactions to his suggestion. '_What did I do_?' "What?… what's wrong?"  
  
They regained their suspicious composures and stared, wide-eyed, at Will as if he was a deadly beast readying to pounce on them, should they make a sound. "Charlie," Briggot hissed, "you seein' what I'm seein'?" Will rolled his eyes heavenward. Why did he need to whisper?  
  
"Depends on what your seein'."  
  
"I'm seein' his face and it's startin' to spook me."  
  
They paused and held very still for a moment. Will leaned his forehead on the bars of his cell. This was ridiculous. It wasn't like whispering was going to change anything.  
  
"Is he dead?" Charlie finally hissed.  
  
"I'm not dead!" Will muttered, a bit angry. Was he deathly pale or something? "What's the matter with you two? I just wanted to help. Is that some kind of phenomenal event that has happened in your lives or something? You look like you've never seen me before or-" he cut off as a thought hit Will while he rambled in his anger. A long pause took place in his speech, then he looked a bit like a light had turned on behind his eyes, "or maybe you _have_."  
  
Governor Swann looked a while on the young blacksmith with bewilderment, as did Charlie and Briggot.  
  
"Briggot.…" Will whispered to himself as he stared at the old man for a long time, trying to remember something. That name sounded almost familiar and, now that he thought about it, the face whom that name belonged to looked familiar as well. He didn't know why nor what for, but something in the back of his mind flickered, an instinct it seemed or something similar to that, that told him he had seen this face somewhere before. He pierced Briggot with a steadfast and unblinking stare, straight into his clear and sparkling hazel eyes and Briggot, a bit unsure and   
uncomfortable of himself, found himself staring back into Will's unnervingly.  
  
Those eyes.…. There was something about those eyes.… It hit him.  
  
"Did you ever know a William Turner?"  
  
Briggot threw him a suspicious look. "Aye…."  
  
A small grin began to form on Will's mouth. "Is your name Daniel?"  
  
Briggot looked up at him in a bit of shock. "Huh?"  
  
"Daniel Briggot. Is that your name?"  
  
Briggot dropped the needle he held in his hand and stared at Will as if he were a ghost. His jaw quivered for a moment before he decided to speak. "How'd you know that?" Suddenly his voice wasn't so raspy.  
  
Will smiled slyly. "I have my ways.…" His eyes drifted towards the chest again. Perhaps the governor and him were both here but for different purposes? The governor was a figure of power and Will was inescapably tied to the history of that stone chest. '_What are these pirates up to_?' He stared at Charlie for a while.  
  
"What's the matter with you?" The youth was obviously uncomfortable with his gaze.  
  
Will didn't reply for a long time. '_If I can manage to get out of here_, _how am I going to manage to get the governor out of his cell and manage to take a good look at the chest without drawing attention_? _And_, _if it is the stone chest that I think it is_, _what am I going to be able to do about it_?… _Blast it_, _I wish Jack was here_!' He averted his line of sight to Briggot once more. After many seconds had gone by, he finally spoke, but he spoke slowly and carefully, as if he were still coming back from deep thoughts. "You don't know who I am, do you?"  
  
Briggot and Charlie just stared back at him blankly. Biggot finally managed to shake his head.  
  
Will smirked. "Isn't that odd.…" The governor, who had been watching silently the whole while, became confused. What was Will playing at? "So, are going to let me take care of that wound or am I going to have to watch you jab that poor kid's eye out?"  
  
Briggot and Charlie looked at each other for a moment. It seemed as if they were having a   
silent argument for a moment with their eyes. Will, even though he had only just met the two of them, could almost hear them saying their thoughts aloud: _'I'm not lettin' him out_,_ you do it_!' '_I will not_! _You do it_!' After several seconds had gone by, their stare was broken.  
  
"Well, go on," Charlie pushed Briggot lightly. "Let him out, then."  
  
"Alrigh', alrigh'," Briggot grumbled, returning back to his old personality. Charlie had won the wordless fight. Will's eyes followed him as he hampered over to a crate, where he lifted a pistol off the top of it. Slowly and shakily he cocked the gun with one hand while holding it firmly in the other. He then bent over and grabbed a large ring loaded with keys and hobbled over to Will's cell door. "Yer not pullin' no tricks on me, yer not," he growled as he pointed a shaky gun at Will's chest.   
  
Will was a bit surprised at the man's … wariness. He had never been considered dangerous enough to have to have a gun pointed at him for restraint. The only other time he had been restrained with weapons was when Barbossa wanted to ensure he didn't escape from the Black Pearl after he had traded himself for Elizabeth and Jack's freedom and during the blood ritual on Isla de Muerte. But, in the end, he concluded that these- er- _gentlemen_- dealt with dishonest men for a living. He was almost expecting Will to be like those other dishonest men, so he supposed it was reasonable for Briggot to hold him up like this.  
  
Briggot held a shaky gun pointed at Will while trying to get the right key in his fingers without using the hand holding the pistol. This was complicated, as he needed two hands to sort through the keys on the ring until he found the right one. He repeatedly tried to flip keys around the ring, using just his index finger, but this eventually proved to be _impossible_ as the ring was far too big for his fingers to get a good grip on the keys. Finally he sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward with frustration. "Hold this for me, will ya?" he asked and he handed Will the pistol without a look of suspicion or warning towards him.  
  
Will raised an eyebrow and looked at the pistol then at Charlie, who had an identical look and smirked. Obviously, Briggot was one who could only concentrate on one thing at a time: the fact that Will could use the gun against him wasn't what occupied his brain currently. Briggot also was near-sighted, Will discovered. He would take a key, slide it to the top of the key ring and look at it so closely that his nose nearly made contact with it. "Nope," he'd grunt and then let the key fall down the opposite side of the ring. After five keys had been checked, Will was beginning to tire of waiting- for some odd reason Briggot was irritating him in a way he wasn't used to. Normally, he was a patient man, but for some odd reason-  
  
"Found it!" Briggot proclaimed triumphantly, holding up the correct key. He bent over and shakily began the attempt to stick the key in the keyhole, clutching to the door with his free hand for balance. Attempt one: missed. Blast. Attempt two: missed. Blast. Attempt Three: Almost made it, but missed. Blast it! Ect.  
  
Will, who was still holding the gun in his hands, found himself looking across at the governor, who also had a cocked eyebrow at this display. He hated to admit it, but this was pretty pathetic.  
  
"Ha-ha! HA! We've got it!" Briggot announced and he turned the key, swinging the door to the cell open with a creak.  
  
Will took one step out of the cell and handed the gun back to Mr. Briggot with a cheerful and polite smile. Mr. Briggot grabbed the gun by the barrel, shakily turned it around, got hold of it properly and pointed it at Will again, who suppressed a small snort of laughter.  
  
"Alrigh'," Briggot sighed, looking Will up and down questionably. "You can go." He took a step aside and gestured for Will to pass.  
  
Will inclined his head graciously in a thanks as he glanced at the governor, causing Charlie to laugh and Governor Swann to shake his head with a small smile on his face. He walked over to where Charlie was sitting as Briggot scorned at him. He didn't like Will, that much was certain. And Will had a good guess why as he bent over and picked up the needle from the floor. He would explain the whole situation to the governor later.  
  
He straightened himself before Charlie and placed the needle on the table. The cut had bled over again a little bit so Will grabbed the first rag and began dabbing at Charlie's cut a little bit. The boy glared at him. '_Boy_, _he's friendly_,' Will thought dryly. Perhaps he ought to loosen him up a bit? It was worth a try.... "So, Charles… what's your last name?"  
  
Charlie snorted. "You think I'm stupid enough to tell you?"  
  
Will resisted rolling his eyes. '_Oh_, _aren't you sweet_?' "Well, why not?"  
  
"You could be from the Devil for all I know," the boy snapped back readily.  
  
Will raised an eyebrow at this but then shrugged it off. Considering the circumstances, with the chest and all, he supposed it was fair enough a thought. "Well, if I were from the Devil, wouldn't I already know your name?"  
  
"Yes, but you ask anyway just for appearances," Charlie replied quite casually.   
  
Will laughed as he put the cloth down and picked up the needle. He was pretty sure the boy had his whole history and fate decided for him. "Alright," he brandished the needle. "This may hurt a bit."  
  
"I'm not a child."  
  
It was Will's turn to scoff as he pierced the soft flesh with the first stitch.   
  
Charlie gripped the tablecloth until his knuckles turned white and ground his teeth as his face became contorted in some form of concentration.  
  
"You alright?" Will asked. He didn't get a response, nor did he expect one. He knew the answer to that question: it hurt. A lot. But Charlie seemed the sort of boy that was too proud to admit it. Will began to sew the stitches and close the wound. "So, how did you do this?"  
  
"Was runnin' and not watchin' where I was goin'," Charlie grunted. He seemed to be subconsciously holding breath and his eyes were beginning to water. "Sterling told me to stop but then I looked forward to see what was the matter and I smacked my forehead into the capstan."  
  
"Ah. I see.…" He stitched in silence for a moment. After he began the tenth and final stitch, Charlie finally decided to talk- perhaps to prevent the tears from falling.  
  
"S'not too bad, is it? I hate stitches."  
  
"Well, it's bad enough to stay in for the typical two weeks," Will almost scolded as he pulled the last stitch taught. Charlie hissed and gripped the tablecloth a bit firmer. Will pulled out some small scissors and cut the string, then stood back and admired his work. He grinned. He had always been good with his hands. He took the bandages and wrapped them swiftly, but neatly and tightly around his crown. He tied it off. "Alright, you're done."  
  
"Finally!" Charlie slipped off the table and, without so much as a "thank you" or even a grateful glance, ran up the stairs and to the main deck, noisily. His footsteps faded and all went silent.… '_Great_,' Will thought with a grin. '_Now_, _to take a look at the chest_!'  
  
"Well, yer done now! Get back in yer cell," Briggot growled, jabbing the gun into Will's back. Will groaned internally. He had forgotten about Briggot. He jabbed Will in the back again. "Com'on! Let's go!"  
  
"Wait," Will turned around, keeping his hands in the air so as not to scare poor Briggot. "I have a quick question or two for you."  
  
Briggot gave him another of his very suspicious looks. "And what would that be?"  
  
"You're pirates, right?"  
  
"Aye," Briggot stated, keeping his gun on Will and watching him as carefully as possible through his squinted eyes.  
  
Will took a breath and released it. '_Well_, _here goes nothing_.' "Is it too late to invoke the right of parlay?"  
  
"No," Briggot stated slowly.   
  
Will half-smiled a bit and let a small sigh of relief escape. Things were beginning to go well. He just had to think like a pirate, which wouldn't be as hard as it once could have been. He'd been around pirates and after returning to Port Royal he had read up on them and asked Elizabeth about them for such an occasion as this. "Good. Parlay."  
  
"What?"  
  
Will rolled his eyes. "Parlay," he repeated. "I demand the rights for me and the governor to negotiate with your captain."  
  
Briggot stood frozen for a moment, as if Will's fast-spoken words were taking an especially long time to piece together and make sense in Briggot's mind. "….Oh," realization finally hit him. "Oh, alrigh'."   
  
"This way," Briggot was leading Will and Governor Swann up the steps to the main deck and to the captain's cabin. It was now about seven in the evening, according to the lavender and red hues that the sky radiated of, and the lamps were beginning to be lit. The ship was a run-down old schooner. Old and run down, yes, but Will couldn't help but notice how swift she could still fly across the ocean's surface- they must've been going 8 knots, at least, and it looked as if she was capable of going a lot faster than that, as the wind wasn't as strong as it could be.   
  
The governor and the blacksmith were brought to a stop in front of the Captain's cabin. Will looked curiously at Briggot. Why weren't they going in? "Wait here," Briggot said stiffly. "Have to ask the captain if he's ready to talk with ya." He turned and hobbled toward the cabin in his stiff way.   
  
Will sighed and decided to cast his gaze at the ships sails. Old and dirty, he could see from their yellowish tint. But they looked as if they'd hold true in a fairly good storm. His eyes wandered amongst the old but splendid rigging and down the sturdy masts until his gaze was cast at the crew members. Over all, they were a rather ragtag bunch, but not nearly as odd as Jack's was. He couldn't help but notice that, as they saw him, the crewmen stopped whatever it was they were doing and stared at Will, expressionlessly. Before he knew it, the whole crew was staring at Will in poker-faced manners and he stared back at them with his eyebrows and face contorted in utter discomfort.  
  
A big, boisterous laugh rang out and caused Will to jump a bit and look to where the voice was coming from. A big man with his sleeves rolled up and some form of tobacco or another weed being chewed in his mouth hopped down from the upper deck. He had messy auburn hair that was (moslty) tied back. Will was about five inches shorter than man, and not nearly as broad. His face was round and squashed and his nose and cheeks rosy. His eyes were green but had a yellowish tint to the whites and quite bloodshot. His teeth were tan. "What 'ave we 'ere?" He poked Will harshly in the belly. Will sneered at him and brushed his hand away. Obviously a bully of sorts. "Fresh meat, eh?"  
  
Will turned away from the man and looked elsewhere. His breath reeked of tobacco and alcohol and it made Will want to gag. How could people allow such things to enter their bodies? It was disgusting.  
  
The man laughed. "Not too friendly, are we, pretty boy?" He poked Will harshly in the side with his beefy finger. '_Pretty boy_?' Will rolled his eyes and that man laughed again. "Wha's the matter? Mute? Shy? Are you _scared_?" he taunted.  
  
This was ridiculous. Will crossed his arms firmly across his chest and decided to ignore the man's comments. '_If he's intentionally trying to push my buttons_, he's _not doing a very good job of it- he's using a child's form of mockery_!'  
  
"Oh-ho!" the man laughed. "What 'ave we_ 'ere_?" The man reached out and grabbed Will's left wrist, forcing him to extend his arm with a fierce yank. He examined the gold band on his wedding finger with hungry eyes. "Got some riches with ya, don'chya?"  
  
'_What_?!' Will squirmed. He wouldn't dare take that- that was Elizabeth's wedding ring. No man in their right mind would dare take such a precious item from away from anyone… unless, of course, they were a pirate.  
  
"I'll jus' consider this as yer dockin' fee an' take it off yer hands." The man guffawed as he gripped Will's wrist tighter and reached for the treasure. "Get it? '_Take it off yer hands_?'" He laughed again as his dirty fingers made contact with the smooth, golden surface.  
  
'_Elizabeth_.…'   
  
"No!!!" In a flash Will's foot had made harsh contact with the man's… family jewels, and he was released from his awful grip. The man doubled over and fell to his kness in the sudden pain, roaring in agony while the whole of the crew, who had been watching, mind you, went into fits of laughter. Will's right hand instinctively felt his wedding digit to confirm the gift was still there- it was. He sighed with relief and looked down at the thug before him. He sent a snarl toward the man as he gave him a harsh kick in the ribs. "You don't touch my ring." '_Bastard_.'  
  
Will turned and began to return to the governor's side, too upset to care about whether or not he approved of his actions.  
  
"Oi!" the man called after Will after he had regained his voice. He began to stand. "Who are you?" Clearly, no one had ever dared to retaliate against the man before.  
  
Will stopped and turned around, finding his face going into a cold glare. "And what does it matter to you?" He had decided that he didn't like this one at all. "You do not appear to be anyone of authority over me, just a great ape."  
  
The crew laughed again, some at the humor they found in the remark and some at the fact that it was an affront to this "ape." But the man did not find this of good comedy at all. He stood and, stomping ferociously as he went, approached Will and glared at him as savagely as he could. "Wha' d'you say?" the man growled.  
  
Normally, the person standing before him would have been very intimidated and even frightened, but Will didn't even flinch with the smallest amount of fear. With Will Turner, there are some buttons you just don't push, and this man had pushed a bit red one labeled in flashing, yellow letters. Will wasn't in the least bit frightened- he was angry. He had been provoked. "I said you're an ape. But I apologize," Will sweetly stated, with a small smile and a wince. "I was completely wrong to call you such a thing."  
  
"Darn right ye were," the man growled, his head doing a strange bob as he stared at Will with it stuck out straight, chewing his tobacco noisily.  
  
"You are, in no way, an ape," Will continued, glancing a bit disgustedly at the man's mouth.  
  
The man grunted in approval.  
  
"You are, without a doubt," Will paused and then grinned partly maliciously and partly amused- this was oh, so Jack- "the greatest cow I have ever seen."  
  
Now it became apparent that this man had no control over his temper whatsoever. He went furious. In fact, he exploded and made a very good imitation of that ape Will called him. He grabbed Will harshly by the shoulders, lifted him over his head and slammed him hard against the ship's rail with an awful roar. Then he drew his sword.   
  
Will banged his head against the rail quite harshly, but he shook his head and managed to shake it off. That was very unexpected. He saw the man, blood written in his eyes, running toward him with his sword in the air in what seemed to be slow motion. '_Whoa_.…' he thought, a bit too far from reality for his own personal safety. His head was spinning a bit and the ship was rocking in a way that ships don't normally rock. But his wits started to come about him as the man stood two feet away from him, and his mind spoke: '_You're in danger_, _William_!' He rolled to his left just as the sword came down on where he would have been and buried itself in the ship's wood rather than Will's flesh.  
  
Will stumbled to his feet and, beginning to get his mind cleared up again, looked about him for a weapon or something to defend himself. The crew had gathered around them in a tight circle, preventing him from making use of a tool of any sorts. '_Oh, well- time to be pirate_!' He turned around and grabbed a sword from the pirate closest to him ("Hey!") as his opponent managed to yank his sword out of the ship's rail. He frowned as he weighed the weapon in his hand- it wasn't very well balanced at all. Will gripped his sword firmly as the man began to run towards him, more wrathful than ever.  
  
Their swords connected with a force that made them spring back again. The shock from the blow threw Will off balance and shook his limbs for a moment, but Will wasn't an amateur when it came to sword fights and was able to turn the tables with ease. He closed off the world about him and focused on the feel of his sword and the movements of his opponent. Before the man could attack again, Will slashed back at the man's right hip 'causing him to jump back. Will smirked. The man was throwing so much force into his attacks that it took more time to recover and retaliate. Speed- that was his weakness. With velocity quick as lightning he was able to swing again at the man's left side of his neck.  
  
Will swashed, he buckled, parried, feinted and thrust with such precision and celerity, that it wasn't long before, as a little warning, he simply diced the bandolier that the man had strapped across his chest in two, while leaving his opponent unscathed.  
  
The surrounding crowd went completely silent as the man looked down at his chest- absent of its oranament- completely gobsmacked and then back at Will, who quietly raised his sword to an _en garde_ position with a humbly focused expression adorning his countenance. Oh yes, Will was a very worthy opponent- the kid was good.   
  
Will was beginning to sense a strong amount of doubt in the man's attitude. The man stared at him for a while, unmoving and Will couldn't help but smirk a bit. He had really left an impression. Suddenly the man erupted in another wave of wrath as he abandoned his sword, cut through the crowd and picked up a large nearby barrel, throwing it with a powerful force at Will.  
  
It came with such coercion and speed that Will didn't have time to duck. It connected with the young blacksmith and pinned him back against the mainstay. The crew, who was obviously rooting for this robust sailor, swarmed Will and, picking him up, shoved him into the care of his opponent. '_Oh_,_ yeah_! _Thanks a lot_, _guys_!'  
  
The man slugged Will a good one across the face, causing his head to snap back as he stumbled backwards. He shook his head as he tasted blood even stronger than before and a sharp pain in his nose. The man grabbed him and threw him again.   
  
He landed on his backside and managed to slide a bit and evade harm. He had found his "sea bottom." He wiped his mouth with his hand and found it covered in blood, with small specks of blood on his shirt as well. His nose must've been bleeding. The man began approaching him again, laughing and pointing in ridicule at Will. Now it was Will's turn to get angry. It may have been true that he brought this upon himself, but this man had gone far over the top in his vehemence.

He waited for the man to come close enough and then kicked him where it counts yet again, quickly scurrying under the man's towering legs to make an escape. But the crew wouldn't let him run. They obviously enjoyed this fight to allow it to end from one of the fighters running away. They grabbed him and pushed him back into the fight that he never intended to start. The man, back on his feet again, grabbed him by the neck with one hand and lifted him up high.  
  
"Yer gonna pay fer that, yeh are," the man growled as he began to squeeze his throat in his massive hands. Will immediately could feel his air supply be cut off, but not only that- his blood was stopped from moving. With every beat of his rapidly pumping blood his head became more hot, heavy and eventually dizzy. _Buh-boom_,_ buh-boom_, _buh-boom_…. The beating of his frantic heart rang louder and louder in his ears, causing his head to throb. His lungs began to burn, screaming for air. He needed to breathe. He clutched at the man's wrists, instinctively trying to make him loosen his grip- to stop his suffering. He gasped and choked but nothing would come. His neck began to hurt and the dizziness was enveloping him. He couldn't focus. What was he doing again? Oh, yeah! He needed to get out of the man's grip- but he was weak. He just wanted it to stop. Just stop, without any struggle. The man laughed. His was head throbbing, lungs burning and aching, vision failing… fading.…  
  
'_Elizabeth_.…'

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Ah, cliff-hangers. Don't you love 'em? (Winks) If you liked this chapter- sorry for cuttin' it off short, if you didn't like it- sorry it ended it up so shabby. But hey! I got it done a lot faster than I expected.... I hope the chapter isn't lacking.

Anyways. The usual. What did you think? Do you hate me for my Will Turner Bash Fest? Please don't! FYI, I have absolutely _nothing_ against Will Turner/Elizabeth Swann. I love 'em. Probably my favorite on-screen couple. I _do_ have a lot against Will/Jack slash, though- that's just wrong. But I digress. I don't hate Will and I'm not trying to abuse him. It's just for the story.

You guys, I'm touched by your reviews. Keep it up! It's what keeps me typing when I'm not in the mood for it. -

**Jules**_- _Thank you _so much _for the heads up on those too- er- _two_ mistakes. (Winks) I'm rather nit-picky about grammar and stuff, so I don't mind at all. I must have overlooked them in my rush to get the chapter posted. And thanks for your re-formatting suggestion. I'm glad you liked the salutation line. I didn't think it would be that funny, but have gotten more than one compliment on that specific joke, so I guess it is! If you like this, I repeat: read "_The_ _Curse of the White Sword_" and "_The Measure of a Man._" (Sighs like being in love) Works of art, I swear- although unfinished. Grr....

**Ila**- I'm glad you LOVE this. I'm very, very, very flattered.Will's in the chapter. Sorry to push you further on the edge of your seat. I'll try to update soon!

**Moxie D. Turner**- Yay!!! A Bootstrap fan! Glad you like him and his relationship/similarites with Will.

**OpraNoodlemantra**- Murtogg and Mullroy. Thank you.

**ElvenRanger13**- No, I didn't kill Will... yet. J/K. Unfortunately, I can't make any promises about keeping certain characters alive. He may be safe, he may not be. But, don't worry, he'll have a moment of spotlight beforehand, should he die.

Peace out!

Jack E.


	5. Weaving Through The Past And A Web of Li...

DISCLAIMER: _I do not and will never own any of the characters or settings appearing in this chapter. They were conceived by Ted Elliot & Terry Rossio, Jay Wolpert and Stuart Beattie and are owned by Disney Enterprises, Inc. Some of the dialogue can be connected to the first film and, hence, is not mine but was inserted into the story to put connections between my story and the film. Same goes for the Scarlet Pimpernel- no profit nor infringement intended._

_.............................._

This goes with the overall feeling of the chapter:

_'See the moon slink down in the sky, darling.   
Let your fantasies fly, darling.   
Life is cold and the game is old._

Just see how virtue repays you --   
you turn and someone betrays you.   
Betray him first and the game's reversed!

For we all are caught in the middle   
of one long treacherous riddle.   
Can I trust you? Should you trust me too?

We shamble on through this hell,   
taking on more secrets to sell,   
'til there comes a day when we sell our souls away.

_Through the mist your lover is beckoning . . .   
comes that moment of reckoning,   
faces change, even smiles grow strange._

And we all have so many faces   
the real self often erases.   
Enticing lies flicker through our eyes!

Feel the terror draw ever nearer   
the more you stare in the mirror,   
but hold your own, face the wind alone.

Reel on, love! Toughen your scars!   
Year by year, we're falling like stars   
'til there comes a day when we sell our souls away!

Can I run to you? Are you true to me?   
I'll do unto you as you do to me!   
And we slowly learn someone has to burn.   
Better you than me!

Oh, every Judas once loved a Jesus.   
But finally treason will seize us!   
And only fools follow golden rules!

We all are caught in the middle   
of one long treacherous riddle   
of who trusts who . . .   
maybe I'll trust you . . .   
but can you trust me?   
Wait and see!'  
  
"The Riddle" from "The Scarlet Pimpernel"

* * *

**Chapter 4  
**_"__Weaving Through The Past And A Web of Lies_"

The man which he had accidently provoked to the point of lethal rage, clenched Will's frangible throat as he fought furiously an inward battle to defy that which was inevitable. He was suffocating. Without air, he could not breathe and if he could not breathe.…  
  
'_Elizabeth_.…'  
  
She was being taken away from him. First his mother and father, now Elizabeth. A pain twinged in his heart. Why did everyone he ever love get taken away?

He'd never see her again. Ever. Not in this life. She'd never see him again. Ever. Not in this life.… After years of secretly yearning for what they thought could never be, after secludedly striving for something that propriety and society frowned upon, after physically fighting against odds just to let their hearts be twain, after _all_ … they had made it happen. They had reached their wild and unorthodox desire of being with each other, of having each other, unbounded. And now, on a ship in the middle of the Caribbean sea, this cruel and unthoughtful bastard was taking it away in an infinitely quicker amount of time than they had gained it. Tearing to shreds their work, their dreams, and Will could do absolutely nothing.   
  
Physically, he was incapacitated. He felt hot and a sheen of sweat had built up on his skin, especially his forehead. He could no longer see or hear what was going on around him, nor could he comprehend things. He couldn't quite keep a grip on what entered his mind- he couldn't decipher thoughts. His lungs waxed limp and lame, and his heartbeat was slowing, growing softer and more unsteady. First one beat, then two. '_No_.' Three frantic pumps and one feeble one. 'No.' He didn't want to have to say, 'goodbye' but he didn't have much choice. He was dying.…  
  
An abrupt fresh wave of dizziness swirled about his mind as a sudden rushing flow of warmth swamped the nape of his neck, his chin, his cheeks, his temples, his brow, his brain. A throbbing and a ringing pealed in his ears as he also came to recognize a sensation that he felt he had been lacking for years. He was… breathing? '_Yes_!' Realization hit him. 'Yes!' The flow of air into his feeble lungs was like the kiss of water healing a dying civilization plagued by famine. Sweet. Wonderful. He was alive! His cognizance was returning in waves and clarity reinstating itself in his vision quickly. Blurs took shape and sharper colors appeared. He could see… clouds?  
  
He blinked perplexedly as many wide-eyed faces appeared, staring down at him. He was on the deck, lying down. '_What's going on_?' He sat up slowly, realizing how awful his neck felt. It felt like it had been stretched miles past its limit and his muscles did not agree with the feeling. It was also quite bruised from the squeezing. He rubbed it with his hand numbly, not quite sure what to make of things. Yes, cognizance had managed to return to Will's oxygen-deprived brain, but not in its entirety.  
  
A hand appeared before him, open and outstretched in a welcoming signal to take it. Looking up at its owner for a brief moment and finding it not to be the fiend that had thrown him about so unpretentiously (and, well, _ape-like_), but another face, he accepted the hand and was helped to his feet.   
  
Will's shaken legs instantly threatened to give way as a result of the adrenaline having gone away. They felt like they were giving him the support of soggy seaweed and he teetered for a moment before regaining his balance and somehow managing to stand without his limbs failing him.  
  
He looked to the man who had helped him to his feet and possibly stopped his undeserved and very undesired pummeling. He managed to twitch a small smile. "Thank you."  
  
His rescuer said nothing, nor did he smile in return. A tall man with scraggly, dirty-blonde hair and a bitterness in his deep brown eyes that made all who saw him shrink, Will began to doubt he was capable of such an action as smiling. His face was old enough to have the wrinkles of his favorite face drawn into his being: a frown not only in his downwardly bent lips, but creased into a sneer upon his brow as well. His eyes did not twinkle. They did not gleam. They actually were quite cold and, for some odd reason, made Will want to shrink away in guilt, even though he had done nothing wrong. He had a black trihat on his head and was- to Will's surprise- dressed in a commander's suit of the British Royal Navy with his arms locked firmly behind his back. In fact, if it weren't for the fact that he looked older, far more malignant and colder, Will would have compared this man to his good friend, the commodore.  
  
Will jumped a bit when he felt someone harshly brushing off his shoulder and he turned his head to see who it was. He cocked an eyebrow. Why was the man who was just thrashing him helping him clean off?  
  
"Stripes," the older man spoke quietly and calmly to Will's … personal butler. His expression was austere but not nearly as icy as the tone of his voice, "take your hands off that boy."  
  
"But-"  
  
"NOW!" Even Will jumped at the sound of his voice. The sudden explosion wasn't something he had expected and made the man seem a hissing hand grenade, preparing to explode at any moment.  
  
The man, whom Will guessed to be the captain or first mate - a figure of authority to say in the least- stepped up to Stripes and looked at him wickedly in the eye (even though he only came up to his pudgy nose).   
  
"Stripes," his voice was soft once again, but its coldness caused said Stripes to flinch upon the vocalization of his name, "What do you think you were doing?"  
  
"Uh-"  
  
"Didn't you realize," he interrupted, speaking quicker and with more authority, "that the boy was under the PROTECTION OF PARLAY?!"  
  
"No, Cap'n, I didn't even think-"  
  
"That's because you don't think at all! You don't attack a person on board the ship _period_! You swore on the good book that you would follow the code. Do you even know the code?!"  
  
Stripes seemed hesitant to answer. He just stared at the floor.  
  
"Well?!" the captain barked. "Do you know the code?"  
  
Stripes shuffled his feet a bit uncomfortably and nodded timidly. "Aye, I know the code."  
  
"Well then, recite to me article number eight."  
  
Stripes bowed his head again and looked at the floor as he began to mumble, "'_None_ shall _strike another on board the ship_, _but every man's quarrel shall be ended on shore by sword or pistol in this manner_.…'" He looked up at some of his mates and frowned before continuing. "'_At_ _the word of the command from the quartermaster_, _each man bein' previously placed back to back_, _shall turn and fire immediately_. _If any man do not_, _the quartermaster shall knock the piece out of his hand_. _If both miss their aim_, _they shall take their cutlasses_, _and he that draweth first blood shall be declared the victor_.'"  
  
There was a long silence, in which the only sound heard was the soft flap of the sails and gentle song of the waves licking the ship's hull. The captain simpered coldly and Will almost pitied the man- even if he did deserve a night without supper. "Well, if you know that, then why are you breaking the code?"  
  
Stripes frowned and cast his gaze downward almost timidly. "He… he called me an ape."  
  
"And _where_ in the code does it say that you have an excuse because someone dared to insult you?"  
  
"… Nowhere."  
  
"That's right." The captain placed a firm hand on the man's broad shoulder and brought him down to a lower level, telling Stripes quietly. "Now, listen to me. I want you to go up to Mr. Turner, shake his hand, and tell him how sorry you are."  
  
Stripes scowled at the idea, clearly not in harmony with it. But eventually, he took two long  
strides up to Will and, holding out his large hand, grunted softly, "M'sorry 'bout the nose."  
  
Will looked cautiously and openly suspicious at the man's palm. But, glancing over his high shoulder and finding the captain eyeing Stripes carefully, he deemed it safe and took the hand, shaking it firmly.  
  
"Good," the captain soughed. "Now… I want you to take yourself down below decks, and get all the supplies you'll need to refinish this deck."  
  
Stripes looked up at the captain- his face contorted in outrage. "But, Cap'n, I already have done me chores-"  
  
"NOW!!!"  
  
That was all it took. With a visible jump the man nodded timidly and shuffled away to complete his newly assigned task, grumbling indecipherable words to himself as he went and throwing glares at any of members of the crew who dared to look his way. They went silent and still when he looked at them, but as soon as he averted his gaze they would start to snigger behind his back. If "Stripes" had had any form of respect before, he had just lost it.  
  
Will flinched as he thought of such a thing. The man would surely be out to break his neck later on. He seemed the type that would gain vengeance in a violent manner. After all, he had just done so!  
  
The captain turned on heel and looked Will squarely in the eye. "You, boy. Come with me."  
  
Will flinched at the tone in his voice. He didn't have to be well acquainted with this man to know that it meant one thing: he was in trouble. The captain stiffly rounded about and made for his cabin, obviously expecting that Will would follow. Will didn't want to follow. He wasn't in a negotiable mood right now. He was restless at the idea of being away from home- his ability to return there when needed completely cut off from him. But, looking about him, Will felt he hadn't any other choice. After the captain left, who knew what the crew could do- what they would do? And, in truth, regardless of the fact that he sorely wished to slip away back to the comfort of his new home- he had no means to get there and, hence, nowhere to go. He was a captive. Stuck.  
  
He rolled his eyes heavenwards, unable to muffle the soft growl of frustration that rumbled in his throat.   
  
William Turner was not a haughty or prideful man. In truth, he was quite the opposite. Years of begging for food in the slums of London, living in the streets and poverty that surrounded him as a child while, in his latter years, working for food, for life; living in homes that, in comparison to the Governor's mansion, were sticks and dirt; slaving away at a hot furnace folding, grinding, heating, quenching, pounding, pounding, pounding.... All of that and much, much more had humbled any haughtiness he ever held. How could one be arrogantly proud of living in a shack? Of making some of the lowest pay possible in a line of work while sweating and working harder than any other tradesman? Of not even owning his shop nor a decent home? In truth, only the most strange and stubborn people could hold haughtiness for such positions and Will wasn't one of them.  
  
However, every man has his pride- a certain respect for himself that naturally makes him take gladness at his accomplishments and anger, sadness and embarrassment at his deteriorations. Some men have a very large ego, and it makes them seemingly monsters to the people they dub "beneath them" (which is just about everybody, mind you); while some men have almost no ego at all. Their pride in themselves- their self-respect- wavers and wanes as they are lashed by the narcissism that the more arrogant hold in themselves until they have almost no pride, no confidence in themselves whatsoever.   
  
Then there are the normal folk. Often times, they do compare and contrast themselves with others, but the results vary. It's never always that they're better than this person, or they'll never be as good as that person- it alternates. And, if worse off, there isn't a dire need to change it, to become better. They just let it be and oftentimes take pity for those beneath them. No, the pride that these people hold in themselves is a healthy self-confidence and respect. They take pride in little things that they can do, and don't lament the idea that they aren't superior or the best. They are who they are, and they accept it, relish it and make the most of it.   
  
The final category is the one in which our dear Mr. Turner fit into. Not narcissistic but… confident in his self. And the idea of _him_ being the one that was captured, out at sea and unable to escape wasn't something he was proud of.… He had, after all, managed to save Elizabeth from the exact same situation.  
  
A throat was cleared, and Will looked ahead of him into a pair of defiant and angry eyes. "Didn't you hear me, boy? I said, '_Come with me_!'" the captain barked and, once again, turned and made for his cabin.  
  
Will frowned, his face slightly flushed, as he began follow after the captain. Now he was embarrassed. He was giving an awful first impression of himself- what must the captain think of him? Will cringed at the thought. In all honesty, he didn't want to go into that disgustingly begrudging detail.  
  
As he approached the cabin with heavy and reluctant footsteps, he pushed his thoughts aside and suddenly became aware of a presence beside him. He looked, and, to his dismay, the person didn't make him feel any better. The governor. Blast it! he had complete forgotten about him! And he had just put up an awful show too.… '_Well_… i_f the governor ever took you for a ruffian before_, _you just managed to confirm it_. _Fantastic job with your decorum_, _William_!' Suddenly he felt sick.  
  
Three months after Will saved Jack from the hangman's noose in Port Royal, a whole year ago, the governor had been inclined to treat Will quite coldly. He would do his best to ignore him, and, if he needed to speak, comments towards Will were polite as far as they needed to be but curt. Surely, he was warm and friendly at the time of Jack's escape, but he had come to assume that Elizabeth wasn't at all serious about the boy. In all honesty, he had assumed that the "love" that they claimed to have between was an object of fantasy- something born out of the excitement of their adventure and that would die as the excitement grew dull in their memory. He was, after all, a blacksmith and Elizabeth was bound to come to her senses sometime soon.  
  
As time passed, however, the governor began to realize: the love that had grown between the two of them was nothing so weak nor cheap. They didn't fancy each other, they were in love- deeper and more powerful than was common anymore. Nothing, no one would nor could break it. Sometime after they announced their engagement- some six months after the pirate events- Governor Swann must've realized that fact. For his coldness began to dissipate and warm up. He began to smile towards Will and would say things other than, "Good day, Mr. Turner." "Good afternoon, Mr. Turner." "Good evening, Mr. Turner." "Good bye, Mr. Turner." and "How's business, Mr. Turner?"- actually intending to start a conversation. He once even invited Will to a dinner party and laughed when Will made a humorous remark on the food. Yes, things began to mend nicely. But Will couldn't help but still feel an awkwardness around the governor- even minutely now, after the wedding. The change was so sudden, he couldn't help but wonder if it was an act to please Elizabeth and Governor Swann truly loathed him. A silly idea, really, and Will realized it. But, deep in the depths of his heart it was a quiet fear, tickling the back of his mind with dread whenever the governor was present. For him, it would take a little longer to get used to being accepted.  
  
He groaned mentally. Things were going so smoothly before and he probably threw everything off-balance with his little scuffle. What a display! Now the governor probably thought Will as truly one of two things: a blacksmith or a pirate. Nothing more. It made his stomach feel queasy at the thought, but the more he thought about it, the more true it seemed. He could never fit in with his wife's class and lifestyle. The cleanliness, the jewels and silks and satins, the large estates, the money.… It was too much for him to compete with, let alone fit in with. '_Why_ _would the governor want to have a son-in-law that couldn't even stay out of a childish argument_? _Why would he want his only daughter's husband to be a blacksmith and a pirate_?… _He doesn't_. _He's only supporting me because he cares for Elizabeth too much to break her heart_.... _Tonight just made matters worse_.'  
  
He was pulled out of his reverie by a flash of white lace before his eyes. He blinked and shook his head slightly, focusing on the object that was held out inches from his face: a handkerchief. He followed the arm that held it until he came to face with its owner: the governor.  
  
Governor Swann smiled timidly as he gave the napkin a small shake, gesturing for Will to take it from his outstretched hand. Will was reluctant. The governor let out a soft sigh in response to Will's hesitation. "You're still having quite a loss there," he explained kindly, touching his own nose with his free hand to clarify.  
  
Will raised his eyebrows in surprise. But, as he gently took the napkin and pressed it to his bleeding face, his features softened and his eyes began to sparkle with the gentle mood of gratitude. "Thank you."  
  
"Of course." The governor gave a half-smile and winked, a merry twinkle in his eye as he walked into the captain's cabin.  
  
Will felt a warmth in his soul at the governor's kindness for a fleeting moment before mentally slapping himself on the forehead. He suddenly felt very naïve. He had had absolutely nothing to worried about. Why was he so over dramatic about what Governor Swann would think of him? The governor was a good man. He would know that Will was no less human than an aristocrat and therefore had as much potential as an aristocrat. He wasn't heartless. Will smiled to himself as he made for the captain's cabin and a thought came to him. '_Jack's right_. _Sometimes you can be incredibly stupid_, _Will_.'   
  
The cabin, in itself wasn't very big at all. In the far back corner there was a neatly made bed big enough for one man. It looked old, but to Will it also looked quite tempting. He wouldn't oppose to a good night's sleep in an actual bed rather than the floor. The back wall was lined with windows, as was custom, but the widows were a bit grimy and what little light there was outside had quite a challenge worming its way into the dark room. The captain, however, didn't have much a problem with this, lighting a lamp and a few candles to conquer the darkness. There was a rickety brown cabinet on the wall opposite of the bed, a bit of papers spilling out over the edge of it's upper most shelf and one cabinet door hanging on one hinge with a shirt sleeve dangling out of said door. There was a small night table beside the bed, holding nothing but a spare candle or two. Nearer the front of the cabin there was a small writing desk that faced the side wall with a chair. Papers scattered its top as well and a few books could be seen stashed in an unorderly fashion on its top.  
  
"Please," the captain said as he shut the door behind him, his voice and face considerably more softhearted than they had been out on deck, "take a seat."  
  
Looking about, Will couldn't help but think, '_Where_?' There was one chair and if that did not go to the captain, then Will would give it to the governor. He sighed as he cast is gaze downward… at the wood-paneled floor. '_Better than nothing_, _I suppose_,' he thought wearily. He made to sit down.  
  
"Oh, Mister Turner, I actually think it would be better if you laid yourself on the bed," the captain spoke, catching Will's actions.  
  
Will, the handkerchief still pressed firmly to his leaching nose, furrowed his brow in confusion. Lie on the bed? Why? "I beg your pardon, sir?"  
  
"Well, that nose isn't going to get any better with the bleeding if you don't tip your head back. I would assume that you would most like to do that lying down?" He smirked as Will didn't respond, cloth still pinned to his face. "Or do you prefer tipping your head back for the duration of this negotiation whilst sitting up and receiving a sore neck?"  
  
Will stared blankly at the captain for a moment. This was… unusual. Least ways, it was to him. Why did the captain care in the least whether Will's nose turned blue and fell off? Didn't he just kidnap him and the governor of Port Royal? Something smelt fishy and it wasn't the ocean. He shrugged in response to the captain's apparently sarcastic question. "I suppose I would prefer lying down. But what does it matter to you? Am I not your captive?"  
  
The captain threw his head back and laughed. A hearty, soulful laugh, it was. "Yes, Mr. Turner, I suppose that is true. But I like to treat my captives humanely, if you don't mind. They are, after all, as human as I am, aren't they?" He placed a gentle hand on Will's shoulder and led him to the bed. Will seemed hesitant at first, but then gave in and was soon sitting on the edge of the bed. "Let me see your nose first, Mister Turner."  
  
Will threw the captain a perplexed expression and looked doubtfully at the governor, but he just nodded encouragingly. Had he been a different person or in a different situation, Will would have laughed. He felt like a little boy going to the doctor and Governor Swann was his father, edging him softly not to be afraid and to do as he was told. But he couldn't help it. He sucked up his suspicion and sat on the edge of the bed as he let the captain remove the now very blood-stained cloth and examined his nose.  
  
The captain turned Will's head at this angle and that, prodded gently at the bridge of Will's nose and then chuckled lightly as he gave Will the cloth back to block the fresh wave of blood. "You'll be okay. It's not broken, but you came very close to it. You will get quite a bruise and it may hurt for a while longer, but over all it should heal up fairly quickly."  
  
Will pressed the handkerchief to his nostrils and looked back at the captain, nodding as he spoke. "Thank you, sir."  
  
The captain smiled warmly back. "You can lie down now, William."  
  
Will nodded again and leaned back into his pillow, closing his eyes slightly as the softness of feathers received his tired head with a warm welcome. He sighed, contentedly and the governor watched as he immediately began to doze off- his face beginning to grow less tense and relaxed, his body slackening his muscles.… He opened his eyes and sat bolt upright, looking at the captain with a surprised but inquiring look on his face. "How did you know my name?"  
  
The captain looked at Will stoically for a while, whilst the young blacksmith returned his gaze with a piercingly no-nonsense one, waiting patiently for his answer. Will was the sort of person that, if he didn't have all the answers, he went and got them. It didn't matter to him how much he annoyed the other person or much the person hated him afterwards, he would get his answers- that was what was important to him. And if someone wouldn't give him a logical answer- or any answer, at that- they were labeled in his mind as "suspicious." Will needed to know all the little details of every situation because he was a bright and observant young man. Jack oftentimes called him stupid, but Will was actually very intelligent and quite brilliant when he put his head in the right direction…he was just horribly rash- a fault that he hated but could do nothing about. It was in his nature.  
  
He watched the captain with curiosity as he noticed a flicker of anger flash in the back of his eyes. It was devilish quick, but it was there and, sure enough, Will saw it. However, had he hadn't been so observant, he would've missed it, it was so fast. Yet, there it had come and gone, and Will began to wonder what could cause such a strange reaction from this man? Who was he?  
  
"I knew your father," the man stated simply. Simply he stated it, but to Will the answer was not so simple. He looked up at the captain from his sitting position on the bed, with a surprised look (although, I suppose he shouldn't have been so surprised- he had had the suspicion that his father had something to do with the mess).  
  
The captain remained quite still, looking at Will firmly in the eyes. His lip twitched strangely before he managed to force a smile out. But the effect wasn't comforting, as smiles are intended for. Rather, Will became all the more wary of the man and what he was to say. Something he had said had touched a spot of sensitivity in the captain. He just wondered what.  
  
"You look just like him," the captain explained stiffly after a moment.   
  
Will knew that. Jack had told him. However, he was surprised nonetheless. Surprised that this man had known his father well enough for him to claim that he "looked just like him." Jack had said the same thing, but Jack was a good friend of Will's father. He also was his captain. Will was surprised, and, as always, he hid it- except for in his eyes, where there glanced the emotion just as quickly as the man's anger had flickered in his own eyes.  
  
The captain smirked at Will's reaction. ".… Act like him too."  
  
He turned around and walked towards his desk, continuing to speak casually, "In fact, I can't say I see much of your mother in you.…" He pulled out his chair and sat it nearer to the bed, gesturing for the governor to sit. "If you please, Governor."  
  
The Governor took the seat, looking up at the captain and nodding with a courteous smile on his lips and a cautious and worried look in his eye. "Thank you," he muttered.  
  
The captain moved the candles that sat on his night table to his writing desk. He swiftly removed his hat and navy jacket as well, setting them on top of the desk. He then returned to the bedside and made use of the night table as a stool, perching himself nonchalantly upon it.   
  
The bleeding in Will's nose had stopped and Will carefully pulled the handkerchief away. It was quite red and he frowned, making a mental note to not forget to return it as soon as he had washed it. He returned his gaze to the man on the night table next to him. He was cool and collected now, much like he had been outside when dealing with that Stripes character. His arms were crossed over his chest and his legs were crossed casually at the ankles.  
  
"You are the spitting image of your _father_," the captain continued, and he spat the last word like he had an awful flavor on his tongue when he spoke it. Will scowled at the tone in his voice. And the captain scowled to, though not at Will. In fact, he seemed to completely forget that Will, or anyone but himself, for that matter, was in the room with him. He stared at the floor, lost in thought but speaking his mind aloud, quite clearly. "Your father.… Yes, he'll be pleased with this, won't he? I wonder what he'll do? Ha! Probably will lock himself in his cabin and hide under the blankets. That bastard was always a bloody coward-"  
  
"What did you say?!" Will demanded rashly. He wasn't loud, and yet his voice was threatening. He hadn't seen his father since he was ten-years-old, but Will was nonetheless angry at the negative light that this man held for him. From what his mother and Jack and Mr. Gibbs had told him, his father was a good man and, after learning about his rebellion towards Barbossa, he had no reason to discredit it. "My father was not a coward!"  
  
The captain jumped a bit and blinked, as if he had forgotten that Will was there. He looked at Will for a moment, surprised that Will had actually heard him and Will began to think that perhaps the man hadn't intended to say those things out loud. But his startled look melted into a sickly smirk as he gave a strangely uncomfortable chuckle. "Like I said, you act just like him too.… Perhaps I shall have a use of you yet."  
  
Will opened his mouth to retaliate, but stopped himself. He was unaware of the meaning that those words held. '_A use of you_.…' What was he talking about?  
  
"But," the man suddenly jumped back to the warm and cheery person he had been when they entered the cabin, a promising smile splayed across his face, "enough with all this dwelling in the past- I believe that we need proper introductions!"  
  
"Yes, well," the governor put in, clearing his throat and readjusting his wig (which he happened to realize had gone crooked), "Will and I are well-acquainted with each other, and I assume that you know who the both of us are. But we haven't an idea of who you might be, so I suggest that you introduce yourself so we can begin to set things straight."  
  
For a moment, the captain seemed impatient and put-off by the governor's interruption, but he eventually cleared his throat and smiled quite genuinely at the suggestion. "Yes, I suppose you are correct, Governor Swann.…" He smiled again, more business like, this time. "I am Captain Joseph P. Foulkes."  
  
The governor inclined his head graciously as a response, with a pleasant smile. It was quite odd, really. Will expected the governor to scared out of his skin at the thought of being amongst pirates… but, then again, this "Captain Foulkes" was no Captain Barbossa. He was being quite cordial- regardless of what wrongs Will recently began to feel towards him.  
  
"And this is your ship?" Will implied.  
  
Foulkes looked at Will with a small amount of impatience. "Yes, Mr. Turner this is my ship."  
  
"What's it called?"  
  
"_She_ is called _The Predator_," the captain responded haughtily, emphasizing his correction to Will's sentence. "An old but fine ship you'll begin to find, and I have no intention of trading her for anything else. She's still in her prime."  
  
Will bit back a scoff. Prime? Had this man seen the _Black Pearl_ of late? If there was any old ship that was in her "prime," that was she. Jack would be outraged if his ship slipped into the condition that this one was in- so rickety and shabby looking. Jack always wanted his ship to look as good as it could run, and if not, better.  
  
"Well, now that that's been settled," the governor sighed, "I suppose we should get down to the more important items of business. Why are we here, Captain?"  
  
Captain Foulkes gave a crooked grin. "Well, Governor, I was just about to get to that."  
  
Will relaxed a bit, leaning his back against the bulkhead. His nose was doing well enough now, and he didn't want to have to go through this whole thing lying down.  
  
"The fact is, Governor, that, regardless of how well-mannered or courteous I am, I remain a pirate. And pirates have certain items of business that they must attend to every now and then. Honestly, I believe that kidnaping is crossing the line, but I really didn't have a choice."  
  
Will held back the urge to question this. He figured it best to listen carefully now and ask questions later. However, he still let his tongue slip. "But that wasn't the governor's question," he uttered softly.  
  
Foulkes turned and shot a soft glare in Will's direction. "I know."  
  
He stood and made his way towards his desk, speaking as he did so. "The truth is…I don't really _know_ why you are here, Governor." He began sifting through the lot of papers on top of his desk.  
  
"That makes no sense to me, whatsoever," the governor responded, timidly.  
  
"I am not in charge of this little…enterprise. This whole voyage was not determined by myself. I receive orders from a higher commander. Our…_commodore_." He spat this last word much like he did whilst referring to Will's father. He pulled a paper out from the messy mass and held it out for the governor to take, returning to his "seat" on the night table. "You may find this of interest to you."  
  
The governor pulled out a pair of reading spectacles that he had been carrying in his pocket and placed them on his face as he began to read the letter, mouthing the words slightly as he went over them. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he finished the letter. "Hm…" he muttered. "Isn't that odd? He seems unusually ghastly- not something I would expect. And that's a peculiar name: '_Bootstrap_?'"   
  
Will shot to his feet. "What?!"  
  
"Oh dear!" Captain Foulkes uttered in a mock-worried tone, pressing a hand to his lips and feigning worry. "I completely forgot that you might be interested in the letter as well, my dear boy."  
  
"Shut up!" Will snapped, causing the governor to jump and throw a surprised look at Will as he pocketed his spectacles. Will held out his right hand towards Foulkes. "Give me the letter!"  
  
The captain lightly took the letter from the Governor's hands and held it out for Will to take. Will reached for it, and Foulkes snapped it away, causing Will to contort his face and ball his fists in fury. "Foulkes!" he boomed.  
  
"'_Please_?'" Foulkes sing-songed the way a parent did to his two-year-old child.  
  
Will stood there for a second, impatience written clearly upon his handsome face: his brows furrowed, his eyes flashing and his jaw clenched as he raised his chin slightly in defiance. He didn't like the way this man treated him. "Please?" he grumbled.  
  
The Foulkes brought the letter within reaching distance for Will again. Will reached for it and he snapped it away again. A growl rumbled in Will's throat.  
  
"Say it nicely, William," the man caroled.  
  
Will exhaled sharply. With every passing second, he was disliking the man more and more. He took a deep calming, breath, attempting to appease his innards. He held out his right hand to take the paper, "_Please_," he repeated.  
  
"Try again," the man countered, seeming to enjoy Will's displeasure.  
  
Will closed his eyes. At first this reaction was to hold himself from striking the man in the face in a compulsion of anger, but he began to use it as a tool to tame his temper.   
  
A voice arose somewhere inside his head. A female voice. It was laughing. '_Oh Will_, _sometimes you get angry at the most nonsensical things_! _You must learn to keep your temper under control_!'  
  
'_But I can't_,' a voice that sounded like his responded, frustrated with itself. '_It's out of control_.'  
  
'_But you_ must. I_ intend to mother your children_, _and you will have to have great patience if we are to have little ones running about_. _They aren't the most non-mischievous_, _obedient beings_, _you know_. _They will get into trouble and they will test your patience to the limit_. _It's best to get practice now_.'  
  
'_But Elizabeth_-'  
  
'_Patience_,' the woman cut in, '_is a virtue_, _Will_. _And one that I_, _myself admire in a man_.... _Impress me_.'  
  
Will felt his anger began to ease itself away slowly, until Will felt he had enough composure to ask again to the captain's favor- regardless of how ridiculous he was being.  
  
'_Elizabeth_.…' He missed. It didn't matter how short of a time he had been away from her, he missed her, and to imagine her voice soothed him. He opened his eyes, his features and voice significantly calmer, softer. He held out his right hand. "Please."  
  
The captain grinned. But his grin wasn't one of disgusting triumph or mischievous pleasure. It was, to a point, slightly kinder. "You may." And he handed the letter over to Will, who snatched it out of the captain's hand none too anxiously.  
  
It read:  
  
'_Foulkes_  
  
'_We make for Port Royale_._ Dock at the port tomorrow morning and wait  
there for the hostages_._ We leave for Tortuga at midnight- do not get caught or you_,  
_ your crew and your bloody ship will face the consequences_._ You will stay at Tortuga  
for two and a half weeks while we attend to special business elsewhere_._ We will have  
spies watching you_._ After Tortuga be prepared to head for Mexico_._ Burn this letter_.  
  
'_Sparrow & Bootstrap_.'  
  
Sparrow? Will's eyebrows shot heavenward and looked up at Captain Foulkes with anxious eyes. Bootstrap?! His _father_?! Impossible! He was dead! He couldn't have been alive. Surely he didn't.… "I don't understand."  
  
Foulkes smirked as he took the paper and put it back. "Of course you don't. I didn't either, at first. Your father was always a good man. Fought for what was right, for his family and never shed blood if there was another way around it," he smiled warmly at this thought as he, once again, sat himself down on the night table and Will sat down on the bed, eager to hear this man's tale. There was a warm sparkle in the man's eye- one of admiration and respect. "He and Captain Jack Sparrow came up with that idea. I always looked up to those two… especially your father. He was a good man.…" He fell silent for a moment, his eyes wandering into the distant land of thoughts and dreams as he began to walk down the alleyway of memories.  
  
Will cocked his head. First is father was a bastard and now he was a good man? Surely, he couldn't be both.

"Your father's still alive, Will."

"What?"   
  
"Yeah. He's _alive_...."  
  
Will just peered back, stubbornly, at Foulkes. He thought it was a joke. His father couldn't still be alive. He had heard multiple people testify of his death.  
  
Captain Foulkes crossed his arms and ankles again, leaning his back against the wall nonchalantly as he continued. "When I found out that the stories about his death weren't true, and that he was still alive, I was anxious to join the crew he was starting. At first he was the same old Bill Turner, just wiser and older… but, at the same time, diminished. He plundered the same honorable way, leaving English ships and settlements be, and he wielded his sword as if he were still twenty. He told the same types of jokes, sang the same types of songs and even favored the same style of clothing. Yes, it was Bill on the outside…but somewhere inside his smile had changed. I could see it in his eyes. They had lost their distinct sense of humor at life and its ups and downs. I later discovered why: "he looked at Will, quite seriously, "his wife and child were dead."  
  
Will felt a sudden compassion where there was anger, and understanding where there was hurt swept over him. When he was a lad, he assumed that his father hadn't cared about him and that was why he kept "running away." He didn't believe that he was a merchant sailor. Finally, when didn't come back for a long, long time, Will assumed that he had finally ran away for good. But, after Will had turned eleven and his mother gave him a gold medallion for a birthday present, she explained gently that his father hadn't run away and was planning on coming home. But he couldn't- he was dead.   
  
That was what Will had come to believe his whole life. That is, until the episode that took place a year previous to the present. After learning of his father's story, Will had lots of time to puzzle it over whilst working in his smithy. And, one day, he came to a horrible realization: Barbossa couldn't have killed his father, he had been cursed like the rest of the crew. And that meant one of two awful things: he was wandering around, probably having completely forgotten about his son; or Will had killed him when he broke the curse. Will felt awful. The idea that his father never truly loved him returned from his late childhood and he felt hurt and rejected. The idea that he had killed his own father surfaced and that, if he ever planned on seeing Will again, Will had taken that away.… This story that he was hearing was beginning to feel the blanks and patch up old wounds, and made Will all the more eager to hear it continue.  
  
The governor was interested in this tale as well. He had never heard anything of Will's father or the past that he held. He had had no idea that Will's father was a pirate, that he had known Jack Sparrow once upon a time- Will never spoke of it. It was enough for him to silently listen until this tale was told.  
  
"It made sense," Foulkes continued. "They were the apples of his eye, the jewels of his crown. He loved them more than the sea, more than his ships, more than gold or silver, more than _anything_. And they were gone. So now, he was wandering the ocean, plundering here and there for the sake of old times- just so he had something to keep his mind off of things. Because, you see, he was still cursed. He couldn't die. He had desired to take his own life and join you and Katherine in the heavens when he learned of your deaths, but he couldn't do it." Foulkes smiled fondly and laughed a bit. "That curse, to me, was a blessing at that time. I didn't want to see Bill go. And because he had to live with himself, he had managed to teach his heart to endure the pain until fate decided his time to be sent above.…  
  
"One night, he burst out of his cabin, in ecstatics. The curse had been lifted. He danced and sang and swallowed a whole bottle of wine in one go! He was happier than he had been in a long time. But then one of the crew spoke up saying, '_But Captain_,_ how did the curse get lifted_?'" Foulkes shook his head and frowned with pity. "Apparently, he hadn't given a thought to it before, because suddenly he looked thunderstruck. You see, this whole time he had thought you were dead- taken by the sea when your ship was sunk by the Black Pearl. Due to the circumstances, he realized you had been alive all these years- growing up without a father or any parent, for that matter. And now, because the curse was lifted, it became obvious that Barbossa had found you and you had been killed."  
  
The pirate captain sighed and looked up at the ceiling with his eyebrows raised. "He was glummer than ever after that. We stopped plundering the foreign ships that passed us by, and with every port we stopped at another crewman or two would leave, seeking a ship that would bring them more adventure and success. He had lost his taste for the sea. Then, one day whilst in Tortuga, word reached him that Jack Sparrow had gotten the_ Black Pearl_ and killed Barbossa. His spirit suddenly returned and he gathered a new crew to set in search of the _Black Pearl_.   
  
"Well, fate decided to be on our side for a change and, sure as shooting, after a few weeks, we came across a large Spanish Galleon with black sails. Bill thought it would be funny if we gave Jack a scare and surprised them with a fake attack. We waited till night came and, lucky for us, a sheet of fog came to our advantage. He left me in charge of _The Predator_ whilst he set out with half of the crew in the longboats to surprise Jack."  
  
"What happened?" Will asked.  
  
"Apparently, it worked, because a messenger came with a letter that said that, after a wuick chat and vote, I had been named captain of _The Predator_, he was captain of the _Pearl_ and that Jack had been named 'Commodore_ Jack Sparrow_.'"  
  
Will's eyebrows furrowed. Jack hadn't said anything about that while in Port Royal- he was still touchy about being called _Captain_.   
  
"At first, it seemed everything was great. But then things began to get… odd. We began to receive instructions that were unlike Sparrow and Turner- each letter held a task that was dirtier and dirtier and each letter had more and more threats, which wasn't how your father or Sparrow used to handle their leadership at all. Perhaps it was power, I'm not exactly sure… but I could tell that something was causing your father and Jack to become more and more corrupt in their ways. They started praying on small British settlements and merchant ships as well as the foreign ones- and leaving no survivors; we weren't allowed to come within 50 feet of the _Pearl_ for some odd reason, or else we'd be sent to Davy Jones' Locker; and other strange things.   
  
"Finally, we got an order to set out for Isla de Muerte. When we got there, we loaded up some gold for stock and some of the men from Jack's crew began to move the chest. I tried to talk to your father, but he was cold towards me- completely ignored me, he did! I gave up on talking to him and went to get a look at some rubies that had caught my eye when I heard a very interesting conversation from some members of the _Pearl_'s crew. I learned some very disturbing news that made me lose all the respect that had remained in me for your father."  
  
Will wrinkled his eyebrows. _This_ was something he wanted to hear.   
  
"Apparently, your father got drunk and began boasting about all the pirate-like deeds he's done his lifetime and one of them wasn't very pretty.… But before I inform you of that, I'm curious. How did your mother die, Will?"  
  
Will was taken aback by the sudden change of subject and even slightly angered. He wanted to know about his father, not have to return to evil thoughts of his mother's death day. But, he didn't want to argue with the man, he just wanted to get things over with, so he answered, cursing the man in his head. "She was raped and murdered… by a pirate."  
  
"Did you actually get to see it happen, Will?"  
  
Will shot a glare at the man, becoming impatient at the digression. "No," he snapped back. He then shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his face contorted in constrained expressions. He didn't like this subject. In fact, he hated it. He talked about it to no one- not even Elizabeth had managed to get a peep out of him on the matter and Will felt like he could trust Elizabeth with absolutely everything… except this. "She…" he struggled with his words and seemed pained to get think on what words to use. He took in a sharp breath. "I… I found her … dead… and lying in her blood." he voice became a hoarse whisper. "She had been stabbed repeatedly in the stomach… her throat was slit…" his voice began to crack and his pained face became wracked with grief, tears beginning to shine in his eyes, "…and her face… was completely mutilated.…"  
  
Governor Swann couldn't believe his ears at the monstrosity Will was telling him of. He, the governor, had never heard of such a horrible thing!  
  
"I was only eleven years old," Will continued. His vision began to blur from the tears that were welling incredibly fast in his eyes and his throat began to hurt from his attempts to be a man and hold in his hurt. He didn't want to weep in front of the governor and captain, he was already ashamed of wetting his pillow at night even though he was, in many respects, a grown man. But his attempts failed him, and a sob escaped his lips, followed quickly by his eye releasing a tear. "I didn't have anywhere to go, she told me my father was dead.… My landlord tried to send me to an orphanage, but I didn't want to go.…" He released a shuddering breath and then, wiping the tears from his eyes began to regain his composure.   
  
"I refused to believe that my father was dead as well, I wanted to believe that he was still alive and would be waiting for me.… Last I'd heard, he was in the Caribbean, on business as a merchant sailor. I set my heart on finding him. I begged for food in the streets and pickpocketed hoping that I could get enough money to buy my way to Port Royal.… One day, I was caught by an officer and he threatened to take me to an orphanage. I panicked and wept and begged him not to do such an awful thing. He asked for a good reason why and I calmed and told him my father was in Port Royal and I wanted to go to him.   
  
"The man, Captain James Norrington," Will gave a small grin at the man's name, "had compassion and, after asking for my name, managed to find a ship that was headed for Port Royal. I was to work passage there as cabin boy. Our ship was attacked by the _Pearl_ and then, when I thought I was going to die, I woke up and found myself under the protection of an angel…" he beamed and let out a small laugh, in contrast to his tormented state that had taken him seconds before. "It turned out it was just a little girl by the name of Elizabeth Swann."  
  
The Governor chuckled.  
  
"From there, the Governor managed to find a blacksmith and his wife that were willing to take me in. And, from there, my whole life folded out to what it is now."  
  
Foulkes gave a small smile. "I'm sorry, Will."  
  
Will frowned again, looking at the ground. "There's no need to be," he returned, softly. "Elizabeth has healed my life. There's no need to be sorry anymore."  
  
The captain let out a sarcastic laugh. "No, Will. There is a need to be. I'm sorry to say that, for your own good, you must learn something you have been blind of your whole life. You have to know what your father was really like…he murdered your mother."  
  
Will did understand at first. But words began to piece themselves together, lethargically in his mind. He blanched, disbelief and absolute shock taking hold of him. His father murdered his mother?! '_No_.... _It couldn't have been_.' He couldn't believe it. He refused to- his father was a good man and he loved his mother. He had heard it plainly from this man's mouth. He flushed and became angry. He set his jaw and closed his eyes, attempting control the anger that began to wash up inside of him. It was nothing more than a horrible lie. A disgusting lie. "That's not funny," he snarled through gritted teeth.  
  
"I know," Foulkes replied calmly. "That's why it's a good thing that I am not lying."  
  
"IT'S NOT TRUE!" Will thundered unlike he had ever done before, rising to his feet with his face red and contorted in fury, in hate. Tears began to return to his flaming eyes, tears from the sheer power of the passion held inside his rage. For him, this wasn't a game. "MY FATHER _LOVED_ MY MOTHER! HE _LOVED_ HER! HE WAS A GOOD MAN! YOU SAID SO YOURSELF!"  
  
What Foulkes did in reaction, didn't please Will. It made him all the more furious. Furious…at his father, for not being there to testify otherwise. Foulkes laughed. He laughed, highly amused at Will's passion, his rage, his… ignorance. "Yes, Will. He was a good man. And I thought the same thing that you just did. But, as the great William Shakespeare once said: '_was_' is not '_is_.'"  
  
It took Will a few seconds, but his fast-paced breathing began to slow as realization began to sink into him. His features softened before he blanched again, and looked as if he had come to a form of misery and helplessness. "No… he can't- he couldn't… he.…"  
  
"I thought the same thing, Will. So I asked for his confirmation. And you know what he did?"  
  
Will looked up at Captain Foulkes, hopeful in an infantile way.  
  
"He _laughed_. He laughed and said, '_Yeah_, _I guess I did_, _didn't I_?' and walked away, as cold as ever.… The _Pear_l's crew stole the stone chest of the Aztecs and had it placed upon the _Pearl_. But, as you know, that chest is evil. It granted some strange power the _Pearl_ that rendered its victims helpless. A dark power. And I'm not sure why, but they used it for the last time on Port Royal. They brought the chest along with you two and ordered us to keep it with us at all times. I don't like that chest, so I've put below in a place where I can't see it and now we're headed to Tortuga for reasons I don't know of. I never know the reasons anymore.…  
  
"You see, Will, you're father _was_ a good man… in the beginning,… but he's changed. He and _Jack_. I know a rotten egg when I smell it and, I'm telling you now, it doesn't take a genius to figure out something really stinks about what those two are scheming. Whatever it is, it ain't good- because those two haven't done a good deed in the past year. Not since they were reunited."  
  
The governor remained silent, puzzling this awful news in his mind, as well. But, for him thoughts were not as grievous as Will's.  
  
Will sniffed a bit, trying to rid his nostrils of the tang of blood that he smelt. He didn't like the smell of blood. It reminded him of odd things. It reminded of him of death- his mother's death. He bit his lip as thoughts of that day began to come tumbling back, but with a new disgustingly perverted twist to it. His father.… '_No_!' He shut his eyes and pushed the thoughts aside before clear images could take shape in his head. He wanted to forget.… He wanted it so badly.… '_Please_, _no more nightmares_....'  
  
He sniffed again slightly, and the aroma of blood returned cruelly. His blood. His father's blood…. The blood of pirate… of a_ murderer_.  
  
"Will," Foulkes voice gently pulled him from his gloomy reverie, "I have a favor to ask of you."  
  
Will looked back at the captain glumly. Fine. As long as he didn't have to hear anymore awful news. He would do a little "favor."  
  
Foulkes sighed at Will's glare. "Your father and Jack have been planning to find the city of El Dorado for some time. I think, once in we stop in Tortuga, that is where we will be heading."  
  
Will scoffed. "There's no such thing as-"  
  
"Oh, really?" Foulkes interrupted. "Just like there's no such thing as Heathen-Aztecan-God-Curses that make men look like monsters under the moonlight?"  
  
Will fell silent. That was true. Will didn't believe in magic and all that mumbo jumbo until he had lived it, seeing it with his own eyes. If curses were real, how could he say "yes" or "no" to the existence of El Dorado without seeing it? It had a chance too.  
  
"Cortés did not find El Dorado, but Jack was always one for crazy ideas. He's set his mind on the Golden City. However, if he makes it there, many people will lose their lives and after having both the treasures of Isla de Muerte and El Dorado, Jack Sparrow will become richer than ever. And then there will be no stopping him from doing even more horrible things. Power comes with money, you see. And I don't know what they'll be up to after that- they've simply become too unpredictable. They need to be stopped."  
  
"And just what do_ I_ have to do with it?" Will snapped.  
  
"Well, in a separate letter I had orders to kill you and hold the governor prisoner whilst in Tortuga. However, I'm having plans of my own. Like I said, they need to be stopped. I'm not popular nor strong enough to get a mutiny started, so I've gotten a horse of a different color to help me. I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to hide you and make it _appear _as if I've killed you."  
  
"Get to your point, please!"  
  
Foulkes gave a frustrated sigh and rolled his eyes. "Very well.… I've heard tale that you're quite the swordsman."  
  
Will looked at Foulkes suspiciously. "I suppose so.…"  
  
Captain Foulkes grinned maliciously. "Good. You'll do just fine.…"  
  
"Do just fine for what?"  
  
Foulkes turned back and looked Will in the, a wicked gleam shining in his own. He grinned. "William Turner… I want you to assassinate Jack Sparrow and Bootstrap Bill," he stated it as if it  
  
were a promotion in His Majesty's Service.  
  
The governor gasped, horrified at the grotesque request.  
  
Will's jaw dropped. Assassination? To his father? "What?! Are you mad?!"  
  
"No. You will kill Jack and your father," Foulkes repeated nonchalantly, turning to his writing desk.  
  
Will shook his head. He didn't care what was said about his father and Jack. He didn't care that they were now disgusting, heartless bastards- one was his father and the other one of his only true friends. He wouldn't do it. "No."  
  
"What?" Foulkes hissed, swiftly turning on his heel with his eyes menacing.  
  
Will glared at the captain, unintimidated. He had made his choice. He wouldn't succumb to assassination. "I won't do it. You're a madman.You can't make me. I'm no mercenary!"  
  
Foulkes squared his jaw and looked like he was about to explode in wrath, when his face suddenly softened and then turned maliciously mischievous. He drew his pistol. "Oh, Will…you misunderstand me." He cocked his pistol and aimed it at Will. "It wasn't an option." He then shifted his gun and leveled it at a different target: Governor Swann.  
  
Will blanched and bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes visibly widening in anxiety.  
  
"You _will_ kill your father and Jack…or Commodore Norrington will be receiving a gift, and you know what it will be? The governor's body in a bag and a note stating how he was brutally murdered by Port Royal's favorite young blacksmith.… Oh, dear me! What will Miss Swann think?" He chuckled ominously at Will's outraged expression. He didn't seem in the least ashamed. And Will had thought him to be an honorable man… he was beginning to doubt everything he had just heard was truth.   
  
"Aw, come off it, Will. I know it seems hard now, but once they're dead, you'll see it was for the better. You'll see.…"  
  
Will hadn't much choice. He had to choose: Jack and his father or Governor Swann and Elizabeth. The man was a lunatic!... Will couldn't lose Elizabeth's love…so he made his choice and that became the determining factor. It wasn't something he was proud of, nor willing to do... but perhaps he could pull out of it. Perhaps.... A few minutes later, a very pleased Joseph P. Foulkes was holding his door open so that Will and Governor Swann could be led to the brig for the night.  
  
"So Will… I'm glad we finally see eye-to-eye," Foulkes soughed with a warm smile.  
  
Will looked out the door, where the crew had begun to stare once again, then back at Captain Foulkes. He smirked. "For now," he avowed.  
  
Foulkes grinned wider, a challenge twinkling in his eye. "For now."

* * *

Jack opened the lid to his chest. The chest that sat at the foot of his bed on the _Pearl_ and was not opened by any, save he. He shoved aside some stacks of old papers, lifted out of it some timeworn books, a model ship, some rolled up parchments, discovered the core to the apple he had eaten two days previously.… He threw this over his shoulder and out the window after shrugging. '_So _that_'s where it went_.' 

Commodore Norrington waited at the cabin doorway for a bit, but then, after watching the pile of junk that was coming out of the chest grow larger and larger, he became sure that Jack would most likely need assistance in finding whatever it was that he was looking for, and went and knelt beside him.

"What is it you're looking for, exactly, Mr. Sparrow?"

"The _Abyss_," Jack grunted as he shoved aside a large stack of paper, "is the one ship that is anythin' like the _Black Pearl_. It looks jus' like the _Pearl_, in fact."

The commodore watched with curiosity as Jack lifted a minuscule triangular metal chip out of the box. It was black and had gold engravings of leaves surrounding a fancy letter "A". "When the _Pearl_ was built, the Spanish sailors who built it for me liked it so much that they built another ship exactly like it."

Jack got out his compass and simply slid the metal chip onto the tip of his compass (the tip that pointed north or, in his compass' case, to Isla de Muerte) much like slipping a shoe onto a foot. "I was against it, however. The_ Pearl _was suppose ta be special, one of a kin', the cream of the crop. If she had a sister ship, then she wasn' as special in me eyes. So I forbade them ta use the _Abyss_.

"They didn' listen to me, however. They set sail with the _Abyss_ before I could sail with the _Pearl_. Got to the Caribbean before I did. Tha's not right. So, I went to…" he looked hesitant for a moment, "someone… and I had 'im make this." He held up his compass and pointed to the chip that was inserted onto his compass' point.

The commodore looked at it, bewildered, for a moment's time. "What is it?"

"Well, you know how my compass is… shall we say, "magic?" I 'ad this here chip made special. There's a small metal chip with an engraving identical to the one on this chip located somewhere on the_ Abyss_. The man I took it to was also the man who enchanted my compass. A voodoo expert, really. When this here chip is on the compass, it points to wherever the _Abyss_ sets sail."

The commodore stared at the compass for a long moment then looked at Jack. "_Wherever_ the Abyss is?"

"Wherever!" Jack assured with a cocky smile, gold and silver teeth agleam.

The commodore stared at him for a moment, a stoic expression on his face. Finally, his eyebrows creased in curiosity. "Tell me something, Sparrow."

"Aye?" Jack asked, as he closed his chest and locked it up.

"Why is it," the commodore asked, slightly frustrated at the feeling he had that he couldn't quite tell whether Jack was paying attention or not, "that you are helping us- besides the fact that Turner is on that ship. You gave us the ship's name and all the information necessary for us to find it and we granted you amnesty for it.… Why aren't you running away?"

Jack paused for a moment. He was very still and seemed to be thinking quite thoroughly- something that Norrington couldn't help but think he didn't do too much. Jack sighed and clicked the lock shut. "You wanna know why? I'll tell ya why."

The commodore looked at Jack curiously as a strange sort of seriousness overcame his normally tipsy attitude.

"I jus' wanted me ship, back," Jack sighed. "Tha' was it. An' yeh know wha'? I got it! S'me ship again. _Mine_.… But, now I got another problem. 'Bout 6 months or so after I got the _Pearl_ back, I get to Tortuga to see people shrinkin' away from me. An' I hear people whisperin'- sayin' that rumor has it the _Pearl_, 'as been terrifyin' every kin' of settlements an' ships alon' the Spanish Main more than ever now that Jack Sparrow's cap'n. Well, I fin' tha' hard to believe, 'cause I've been roamin' 'round the Philippines for the pas' couple o' months- completely left the Caribbean to spite you, Commodore."

The commodore rose an eyebrow.

Jack put his hands up into a defensive stance. "'ey, don' give me tha' look- I'm jus' statin' the facts, 'ere!"

The commodore relaxed his unconvinced expression and returned to listening silently. Jack liked the commodore- he didn't interrupt with questions every ten seconds the way Will did.

"Well, I've been doin' a bit of investigatin' to sort things out and I've made an interesting discovery: it ain't the _Pearl_ that the people 'ave been seein', it's the _Abyss_."

"And what's so odd about that, Sparrow?"

"S'odd 'cause I sunk the _Abyss_ nigh fifteen years ago."

The commodore's eyebrows shot upward. "Excuse me?"

"I sunk 'er. An', wha's more, no one has actually _seen_ this imposter- the one posin' as me, that is- the cap'n always stays on 'is ship. S'almost as if they're _intendin'_ to give me a bad reputation. I don' like it."

"So you're helping us because you want to re-sink the _Abyss_ and fix your shattered reputation?" the commodore questioned, his eyebrow cocked again and a disbelieving tone in his voice.

Jack looked at the commodore. "Yeah," he replied quickly with a tight-lipped grin.

The commodore let out a scoff and got to his feet. "I find that every hard to believe, Sparrow."

"S'not _my_ problem," Jack replied as he stood up as well. "I gave you the truth, now whether _you_ believe it or not is _your_ hands, not mine. Now, you need to go get a change of uniform." He made a pained face and pointed at the commodore's military attire. He then walked to his bed, grabbed a small bundle of folded clothes and shoved it into the commander's hands.

Norrington rolled his eyes heavenward and marched in his sturdy way out of the cabin door. In all honesty, he really didn't believe he had time for this.

"You're welcome!" Jack shouted after him in reply to the thank you he never received.

* * *

Jack laughed and thumped the commodore on the back heartily. "You look absolutely fantastic, mate! If I wasn't standing outside yer door the whole time, I never woulda guessed 'twas you!" 

The commodore rolled his eyes heavenward, groaning, '_Oh, heavens,' _inwardly. Why he let people talk him into these things, he did not know, but, at the moment, that did not matter. It was part of the plan. The commodore examined himself in the reflection of water from a nearby puddle. He did, indeed look quite different. No powdered wig, no blue naval uniform, no trihat… just his normal dark brown hair and clothes that regular sailors wore. A loose, light-blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a golden-brown vest, tan breeches, long brown leather boots…quite different from what he was used to.

"Well," Jack stated as he locked his fingers together and, palms facing outward, stretched his arms over his head, "I guess we should get yeh onboard yer new ship, _Captain_." He slapped him on the back once more before moving off.

The commodore made a face of disgust and followed the pirate, reluctantly, towards the docks. When this was over, he was taking away Jack's clemency. This was ridiculous.

He found Jack, arms crossed in a proud stance, standing on the gangplank of the _Interceptor_. Only, her name did not read "_Interceptor_." It read: "_Tradesmen's Trove_."

Jack removed his hat and bowed elaborately. "Mr. Merchant… your ship awaits you."

Norrington walked up the plank in his habitual military stance and it wasn't hard to take notice of it. In fact, Jack was looking at him with an eyebrow cocked.

"What?" Norrington asked, when he noticed Jack's face.

"You'll want to drop the posture, mate."

"Why?"

"'Cause it gives away your true identity. You're no' Commodore Norrington for the time being, mate. You are now officially Captain James…" he thought for a moment, "Smith," he concluded for a moment.

Now Norrington raised an eyebrow. "Smith?"

"Or Smitty, if you like," Jack offered with a toothy grin and the sway of a finger.

Norrington shook his head. "No. It's too obvious. A different name."

Jack sighed. "Fine.… How 'bout…Green?"

The commodore cocked an eyebrow. "Captain James Green?"

Jack shrugged. "Can you come up with somethin' better, Jimmy?"

The commodore shot an angry look at the pet name Jack had come to calling him, but then began to try and think of a better surrogate surname. Unfortunately, James Norrington wasn't used to having to think up such things, and a name wouldn't come to mind. He sighed and complied. "Alright. But this is only until we reveal ourselves to the enemy. After that, it's back to formal conduct. Am I understood?"

"Aye, Jimmy," Jack grinned. "Unambiguously."

"Good." They turned and began to walk up the gangplank, side by side.

"Whoa," Jack put out his hand and grabbed Norrington by the shoulder. "Stop, stop-stop- stop-stop-stop. Stop." He grabbed Norrington by both shoulders and made him turn and face him.

"_What?_" Norrington pressed, quite annoyed.

"Look at me: You are way to stiff, mate. You can be stiff, but you're _too_ stiff. Bloody hell, Will wasn' tha' stiff when I was with him an' Will was a stick, mate. Do you wanna pass as a sailor?"

"Yes."

"Then listen to me. Drop the shoulders. If you don' wanna walk like me- and I actually would rather you not, s'my walk and my walk only- then walk the way Will does. Don' try to think about posture, just be a bit more relaxed in the shoulders. Slouch, for once in your life, savvy?"

"_Yes!_" Norrington insisted, even more perturbed than ever before.

"Great." Jack began to make his way up the gangplank.

Norrington turned and, after taking a deep breath, dropped his shoulders. It felt strange. He couldn't remember the last time he was at ease. He began to walk up the gangplank and with every step it became a little bit more easier, until finally he was able to make it to the top of the plank whilst walking "normally." He was surprised at the top to hear a jovial laugh and some clapping. And it wasn't Jack.

Flushed with embarrassment, he looked to his left to see Elizabeth, standing at the ship's rail, dressed in a simple dress of a creamy color with her hair held back, out of her eyes in a half-ponytail. She was clapping and laughing good-naturedly, and he felt himself go an even deeper shade of red.

"Very good," she laughed, "very good! Not bad for a beginner!"

"Elizabeth, what are you doing here?" Norrington found himself demanding, his face hot and flustered. He was going to kill Jack.

She frowned slightly but then smiled again as if he was being silly, "Well, I'm coming with you, of course! What else?"

The commodore stood and stared at her for a moment as his embarrassment began to become a thing of the past. He shook his head firmly and then he marched up to her, grabbed her firmly by the arm and guided her to the gangplank. "No."

"What?" she asked a bit breathlessly, offended to some extent and trying to pull her arm out of his tight grip.

"No. You are, under _no_ circumstances, coming on this voyage."

"Why not?" she demanded. Now she was angry and Norrington could sense a fight coming on. He steeled himself. Elizabeth wasn't the type of woman that men wanted to get into fights with- especially battles of intellect.

"Elizabeth, you know very well that a voyage such as this is far too dangerous for a woman-"

"And you expect me to sit here, twiddle my thumbs and wring my hands while I just _wait_ to discover what happened to father and husband?!"

"Elizabeth," he sighed and rubbed his temple in frustration. He didn't need this, not now.…

"No, I'll not stand for it!"

"You_ will_," he suddenly became firm. He grabbed her arm firmly and guided her quite harshly and swiftly down the gangplank. "And, if not, you will at least obey my order."

She opened her mouth to speak.

"No!" he barked. He was not going let her endanger herself with brash, impulsive actions as a result of her momentary desperation. "This is the order: that you _off my ship_. You cannot endanger yourself, Elizabeth."

She opened her mouth to protest again, a look of defiance returning after she had re-gathered her composure. "B-"

" And if you do not listen…" he pressed and then… he suddenly hesitated, as if he had difficulty finding words to put this to or did not want to say what he was about to say at all, "…if you do not listen…I will have to punish you."

She stared at him with her mouth agape, surprised for a moment and even hurt. She didn't say anything, she just looked at him. She swallowed and looked down at the floor, in thought. How could he be so cruel and misunderstanding? Will was her husband and her father was gone as well. She wanted save them, to save Will. He had done it for her.…

The commodore closed his eyes cursed himself for being so harsh. He didn't want to hurt her.… Feelings. Pah! Blasted feelings! They got in the way of everything! Why did they have to be for her? "I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I know it's hard and it hurts."

She looked up at him, with an even more pained and angered face than before, if possible.

"But I would hate it if I had to tell your father- …to tell _Will _that he almost got to see you again… but something happened.… Don't you understand? I'm doing my best to bring you two together again.… You deserve it."

She looked up at him for one last time before a small smile began form on her lips. She began to seem comforted. "Do you really mean that?" she asked, her voice almost as soft as a whisper.

"More than anything."

She smiled a small but warm smile as she thought his reply over. Her visibly searching for how she felt about actually obeying an order she did not approve for once. "Alright," she sighed at last. "Alright, I'll listen this once."

The commodore felt a wave of relief come over him. Never before had he been able to stop her when she was determined to get something and he was relieved that he was able to win this round. He was grateful that he was able to get her to understand. "I swore you I'd find him. I'm not sure if that meant anything to you, but I swear to you again: I'll bring him back.… I promise."

She frowned again at his bold statement, apparently disapproving of something. "You mean you'll _try_."

He shot her a confused look.

She twitched a quick smile. "James… don't make promises you can't keep."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**Whoo! Alright, since you had to wait so long- who wants to kill me?! (_Everyone raises their hands_.) Whoa.... Good thing you guys aren't really going to go through with it. - (_They raise torches and pitchforks_.) "!! Uh.... Heh, heh.... Sorry! I had re-write this chapter 3 or 4 times- give me a break!!! 

Okay, first I want to clear some things up so I don't get flames that were written in vain.

> **1)** In case you didn't catch it, Jack isn't evil- he's being framed. So don't shoot me for making Jack the "bad guy" 'cause he's not! We all love Jack.
> 
> **2)** I'm not weakening Elizabeth. We all know she's a strong woman, and that'll come through when the time comes.
> 
> **3)**You guys are going to hate me for saying this, but updates are going to come a little slower. That was the last chapter that was pre-written (and it had some gaps, so I had to write things in as well) so it may take a bit longer. I don't like to rush my work because then it ends up as crap, and I don't want to disappoint you guys. So, all I ask for is patience.

**Moxie D. Turner**- Sorry I had to hurt Will a bit. It's not for the fun of it, though, I promise. It's there to add tension and make some of the characters more unlikeable. You know, what I mean? Glad you like the suspense.

**Jennie**- Wow! I'm glad I've caught your interest. You were right, you learned a bit more about what you wanted, but you still have been left in the dark about some things.... You'll get the answers as the story rolls along, that's all I can say about that. I didn't really want to _torture_ Will. I didn't cause him pain for the sake of things, I did it for the sake of the story, to give a certain tension between him and stripes that will become key to the story.

It's kind of like how Jack cheated in the film. It made him all the more untrustworthy in Will's eyes and that added to how Will reacted to him throughout the film. If Will trusted Jack, he probably wouldn't have eavesdropped in the Faithful Bride, or knocked Jack out on Isla de Muerte... how would that have affected the flow of the story? Think about it.....

**CrAzY Pigwidgeon- **Are you French/bilingual? Sorry, I looked at your bio and it was in French, so I couldn't but ask. And, for everyone's sake, I didn't kill Will now. He's got an important part to play- he's Bootstraps son!!!

**OpraNoodlemantra**- Next chapter is when Jack's plan finally begins to move. Don't worry, Jack's Jack and he's always got a few tricks up his sleeves. (I intend to keep things away from his point of view so you don't get an idea of what he's planning- one of the best things about Jack is his unpredictability.... Least ways, that's what _I_ think.)

**williz**- Professional writer? Ha! Yeah right! I'll have you know that I'm just 15! (Gasp! Choke! Horror!) And, anyways, there are stories on this site that are _way_ better than mine. (I wonder if it's because the authors are _way _older? Hm? 15... 23. Yup. I guess that's it.) You know the rose analogy? Well, there's a good description of Will and Elizabeth's relationship in "_The Measure of A Man_" and guess who says it? Jack! (He's such a cool character in that story.) It also gives us a bit of insight on Norrington's behalf. It's sort of long, but that's why I save you for last. Read this:

> _The pirate flashed a sly smile. "There are a lot of things about the sweet Miss Swann you don't know about, Commodore," he declared. The smug smile on his face infuriated Norrington, and clenching his hands into fists was all he could do to stop himself from launching at the other. "She's quite the willful thing, really. Terribly stubborn and quite clever for a lass. She'll do whatever it takes to get what she wants, you know. Including promising herself to you." At that, Norrington leveled and icy glare that reduced most men to cowering upon Sparrow. The captain only continued to grin, though the Commodore believed he saw a speck of sympathy flash in those dark eyes. "She didn't do it because she loved you, mate, at least not in the way you wanted. But surely you know that by now."_
> 
> _ He did, and part of him still hated it. A part of him yet couldn't reconcile that moment with the image of Elizabeth he adored. She had used him, used his affections, and though he imagined if things had perhaps gone differently she might have wed him, he knew their marriage would never contain the passion or fire he wanted. The Elizabeth he had known was a quiet, demure lady, beautiful and charming. That had not been the truth. There was more to her than simply what he perceived. Jack Sparrow had seen that. Will Turner had, as well. In fact, the boy had always seen it. What had made him so blind?_
> 
> _ He had._
> 
> _ He hated that, as well._
> 
> _ "There are plenty other things you don't know about, either, my dear Norrington," Sparrow continued, pulling him from his reverie. "Her eyes light up with fire, you see, when she her heart takes over her thoughts. She drinks with the best of 'em." Norrington seethed, looking down heatedly. "And she loves that boy. And he loves her. It's one of those things, you know? Even a scruffy pirate like me can see that. Something pure, something precious. The sort of thing you protect just so there'll be something good in this dark and dangerous world. And you don't really even question why you do it. You just wake up one day… And you see the empty ocean in front of you. And suddenly that freedom that you worked so hard for… suddenly that don't seem so important no more. The sea is wide and vast and as empty as the world, and you can take it and have it all to yerself, but all the sudden it seems as empty as it looks. And then you realize. What good is a world without end?"_
> 
> _ Norrington heard the words, and they hurt. They throbbed viciously. It seemed so terribly true. A world without end. An empty world without end. He didn't want that. But even more burdensome than that was the thought of an empty world with an end, a world where he was trapped on land, trapped watching people change and life race by him without the power to interfere. He thought he understood so much and could control everything around him. But he couldn't. He hadn't understood Elizabeth. He hadn't been able to mold her into the image he'd had of her. In fact, he had hardly tried. He'd let her go._
> 
> _ "Did you love her, Commodore?" Sparrow asked._
> 
> _ He looked to the pirate, affronted by the question. But there was nothing but interest in his dark eyes, and the sight softened his anger. "I did," he finally declared._
> 
> _ Sparrow nodded again and sighed softly. "Yeah, I thought I did, too. For a minute or so, back on that island… I thought to myself, 'hey, this ain't so bad. I could stay on this island with this fiery girl.' But I had to have my ship. And then I wondered what it'd be like, sailing the seas with a woman at my side again. Sharing that world without end with someone. But then I got drunk, and I realized I was a limey fool for wonderin'. Men like us… We don't belong in a place like her heart. We're too dirty. We've been touched by black places and things." Sparrow shook his head slightly. "Besides, the sea's our mistress. We'd have to share whatever love we got left, and most women… they don't take kindly to that sort of thing."_
> 
> _ "I simply… wished for more for her," Norrington admitted quietly. "She's a beautiful woman, a specimen of radiance and fine breeding. A year has passed since she chose him, and in that time he has amassed no money, no honor. I… I had thought him worthy and capable, but with each day that passes, I doubt more. Her dignity and reputation is being trampled by his ineptitude. Perhaps he is not to blame, but she deserves more than… than a–"_
> 
> _ "Than a blacksmith? Than a commoner? Than the son of a pirate?" Sparrow finished._
> 
> _ Norrington looked to him. He did not speak at first, ashamed somehow of a thought he had long held. "I don't despise Turner, Sparrow. I despise what Elizabeth's love for him has done to her."_
> 
> _ "Let me tell you something, Commodore. Her world starts and ends with William Turner. Nothing you can do will change that, savvy? I've seen it in the way she looks at him. I've heard it in his voice. They don't know anythin' beyond each other, and they don't want to. That's admirable, in a way. NaVve in another. But it ain't somethin' we can understand. Men like us need more than that. The sea or ships or commandin' others… You should be thankful, really, that Will stole her heart from your hands. She wouldn'ta made you happy." The Commodore glanced at him hurtfully. Sparrow raised his hands in a mock show of defense. "Truly. She woulda given you her heart and expected you to do the same. But you couldn't do that. You would want more, need more, than simply the comforts of a woman. And you would've resented her for that." The pirate shook his head slightly. "It's a good thing, really. But you just can't put it to rest, can you? And you won't. You've realized you can't have her, but you can't let it go, because you can't accept who she's chosen."_
> 
> _ As much as he wished to deny that, he knew Sparrow was right. The man had a level of insight that stunned the Commodore. He had never expected such a keen perspective from the man before him. Jack Sparrow was an enigma to him, now more than he ever had been before. "Men like us…" Norrington repeatedly softly. He narrowed his gaze, settling questioning eyes upon his companion. "You believe we are the same?"_
> 
> _ Jack shrugged noncommittally. "Eh. All men are. We all have the same lusts, the same dreams, the same sorts of thoughts runnin' 'bout our heads. I just express mine. The only thing that separates the law-abiding man from the criminal is inhibition. Now a man's cause for not doin' what he wants all the time makes him what he is."_
> 
> _ "Rather bleak, Sparrow, to think such a thing," Norrington returned, repulsed by the cynicism._
> 
> _ "There ain't no greater truth," the pirate announced quite matter-of-factly. "Common decency? Bullocks. Innate human compassion? Rubbish. No such thing." Sparrow shook his head, obviously somewhat disillusioned. "We're bloody animals, and just like any other creature, we're not made to hampered by silly things like morality and civility. It's a cruel world out there, Commodore, in case you haven't noticed. If you don't take what you can when you can, you get nothin'. That's the cold truth of it, and anything else we've invented, like compassion and laws and proper society, are just means of runnin' from it." The man's face darkened. "I told young Turner once that the only rules that mattered were what a man can do and what a man can't do. I was wrong. A man can do bloody anything he wants. It's what a man will do and what he won't. Aye," he murmured, "that's all the difference in the world."_

_The Measure of a Man_ by M. N. Theis.   
_Chapter Fifteen: The World Without End_.

Laters, guys! Prithee, be patient with me- I'm human and have things going on in my life and I also can't write perfectly in one draft. See ya!


	6. Shipping Off

**Chapter 5**  
"_Shipping Off_"

"I'm going to _kill_ him!" James growled lowly to himself, his voice steady and his face unruffled regardless of his fury as he glanced upon his pocket watch for the umpteenth time in the last hour. 

A quarter to twelve and they _still_ hadn't set off, all due to certain… complications. What made it so complicated, you ask? Well, what– or should I say,'_who_'– else? Heaven knows where he disappeared to, but Jack was delaying the departure by a whole _hour and a half_ in his absence. They could not very well leave without him, as _he_ was the one that the note had been addressed to. To show up without him and expect their enemies to accept it would be nothing short of downright foolish and stupid.

Lieutenant Groves, a courteous, bright young fellow, stood beside the commodore, his lips pressed into a thin line, concealing his secret thoughts of amusement. His commander was a even-tempered and well composed man– even throughout the most dire situations. So true it was, that it had seemed to young Groves that the commodore could not lose his temper. Should some unfavorable happening take place, the officer kept a cool, stoic expression pressed upon his countenance; refusing to let anyone– regardless of whether they were an ally or enemy– glimpse at his thoughts. He was perfectly calm…until Jack Sparrow came along.

Groves had heard of the notorious Captain Jack Sparrow many times before, as he had joined the Navy at a young age and happened to know that Jack had come to be a thorn in England's side for many years; but he never actually got to _see_ the pirate until the previous year. In truth, he hadn't appeared to be anywhere near as notorious as he had imagined. In fact, he looked downright insane. But Lieutenant Groves had enough firsthand experience to know that appearances can be very deceiving.

Captain Sparrow and Will Turner had somehow managed to commandeer the _Dauntless_ and then, when Commodore Norrington had caught up with them and boarded, he had by hook or crook managed to slip under the soldiers' noses completely unnoticed and the next thing they all new, Sparrow and Mr. Turner were sailing away on the fastest ship in the Caribbean without a care in the world (in a figure of speech, of course). Surely, he had to be the best pirate he'd ever seen– he'd never known _anyone_ to be able to sneak about soldiers in such a perfectly executed plan. And, somehow, he'd managed to do so _perfectly _and with someone at his side! The Turner boy, who hadn't set foot off of land since he came to Port Royal, had executed it just as perfectly as Captain Sparrow. Truly, the man had to be a great leader. Ha! Captain indeed!

However, no matter how many great things there were to Jack Sparrow, with the current situation, the lieutenant couldn't help but note that he held many faults as well.… One them was punctuality, and the other- which, I suppose, could walk hand in hand with the first fault- was driving Commodore James Norrington nigh insane. This is what Groves thought so funny. The commodore could collect himself under possibly every situation… _unless_ Jack Sparrow was there. Only then did he seem to lose some form of his cool.

For some, it was disgusting the way that Sparrow could cause the commodore to lose his temper so quickly and to others, it was a silent and very secret riot. His normally allayed composure would be shattered in an instant, replaced with contortions of rage, frustration and even the brink of insanity–all just from having to listen to that drawl any further. And did Sparrow stop then?…No, he did not. It was almost as if he enjoyed his playful torture; asking horribly stupid questions, twisting words and sentences around to have different meanings, touching objects that weren't meant to be touched, talking about random and insignificant subjects–some of them lewd and uncomfortable to bring to thought–, breaking rules and small promises and shirking chores–shrugging it off thereafter as if it were nothing–, singing that blasted song in an off-key tone.…

After many long hours of attempting to be patient, the commodore had come to a new conclusion and theory: it was possible to cross too many lines, and, right now, Jack was flirting with the idea, coming closer and closer to getting a very good punishment as each minute passed.

The commodore glanced at his watch again. Ten minutes to noon. Blast it! _Where_ was he?! He said he'd be there and they were depending on it! He growled to himself, threatening to mumble his thoughts out loud. '_If he doesn't show up in ten minutes I'm going to-_' Then he heard it.

"We exhort, we pillage, we filch, we sack. Drink up, me hearties! Yo ho!" Jack swerved his way toward the docks, singing at the top of his lungs with Joshamee Gibbs trailing behind him, attempting at his best to try and not look perturbed with his captain's galling behavior.

Norrington grimaced. Not that bloody song again. He'd been singing through much of the night as he oversaw the work being done to the _Interceptor_ and, as a result, the commodore had lost much sleep to the repeating tune and reiterating words turning over and over, redundantly inside his mind. He had come to greatly dislike that song. "Mister Sparrow!"

"We–aye?" Jack replied snapping-quick, jerking his head in the commodore's direction, but still looking for whoever it was that called his name. "Who calls for ol' Jack– and with an incorrect title, no less! But I may forgive yeh in due time."

The commodore let out an exasperated sigh loud enough to catch Jack's general attention, but it wasn't until Mister Gibbs tugged firmly at Jack's coat sleeve and pointed out Norrington for him that Jack finally found his summoner.

"Ah!" he proceeded down the docks until he was within conversing distance from Commodore Norrington. "Well, sweet mother o' pearl! If it ain' ol' J. Green!"

Lieutenant Groves snorted, to his own horror . Snorted! In response to a joke mocking an officer of higher rank! He hadn't meant to–it had slipped out in his sudden amusement, and he hastily regained his composure, casting his eyes down at his newly acquired commoner's shoes, suddenly becoming very intrigued by them. My, how they didn't shine!

"James," the commodore growled his correction, his bad mood obviously not improved by his lieutenant's reaction, regardless of his fairly well-collected composure.

"No '_J. Green_,' eh? Well, 'ow 'bout '_Jimmy_?'" Jack lightly placed a friendly arm around James' shoulder.

James removed Jack's arm none too harshly. "James."

"Jim?"

"_James_," Norrington pressed, fire flashing in his eyes. Why couldn't he just take it and accept it?!

Jack sighed and rolled his eyes at his defeat. "Fine. _James_. S'long as you be callin' me '_Jack_' or 'Captain _Sparrow_.' Savvy?" Jack held out a dirty hand for the commodore to shake with a jauntily amiable grin.

The commodore did not answer. He simply glared back at Jack's outstretched palm a moment or two before planting his gaze elsewhere, his cool composure returning with the commanding tone that took his voice, "Mister Sparrow…what's this nonsense about you disappearing for over an hour, _thus delaying our departure by an hour and a half_?"

Jack blinked dully at the commodore for a second, that slow-witted and slightly perplexed look he so often wore placed firmly on his face. It seemed as if he were contemplating a response. But the commodore knew otherwise and was proved right in his doubt, to his fury. He turned on heel back to Mister Gibbs, who was standing, as ever, a few feet behind him. "As I was sayin' before," he began, hands ready with fingers spread so he make his wild gestures as casually as possible and his head bobbing slightly in its merry way, "I've jus' discovered tha' the bad omen you was talkin' 'bout is jus' tellin' us tha' we have to put up with _him_ for the whole bloody journey."

"Mr. Sparrow!"

"Hm?" Jack hummed in an exaggerated "I-was-unaware" manner, turning back around and facing Norrington with an expression similar to his tone of voice.

The commodore now marched up to Jack, his face contorted in anger both at the insult Jack had uttered and Jack's perturbing behavior, "_Do not_ pretend you didn't hear or understand me, I know very well you_ did_ and I _expect_ an answer! Where in heaven's name were you, man?!"

Jack, who was swaying oh-so-slightly, stared open-mouthed and almost sleepily at the commodore before clamping his jaw shut and then, smiling genuinely and replying, "Yes."

The commodore's face went from anger and vexation back to his cool composure, hiding the utter perplexity he truly felt. Yes? Yes to _what_? What did that have to do with anything? "What?"

"Yes," Jack repeated calmly.

"What are you talking about?"

"You said you '_wanted an answer_.' I now have given you an answer: '_Yes_,'" Jack answered simply as he spun around with a flap of his coat and a jingle of his numerous beads and began to walk away.

"No! Don't you leave!" the commodore called, irate once again. Since he agreed to assist Sparrow on his rescue mission, he had lost some measure of authority over him. This was Sparrow's mission and thus Norrington wasn't in full command as was usual– he was Jack's ally and, ever since their agreement, this was the way he had to speak to him to get him to listen: as if he were a small child. "I want an answer to the question I last asked you!"

Jack turned back around. "Alrigh'. The answer is: '_My answer is:_ "Yes."'"

"No it isn't!"

"Yes it is. You asked for an answer to the las' question you asked me. The las' question asked was, '_What are you talkin' 'bout?_' referrin' to what '_Yes_,' was supposed to mean and, I assure you Jimmy boy, '_Yes_' does indeed mean, '_Yes_' and nothin' else." He gave another grin, though this one was a tad more forced, and turned to walk away, Gibbs following him silently.

"Jack Sparrow, if you don't come back _this instant_, I'll be given a reason to flog you!"

Jack stopped in his tracks. He simply stood there for a moment, as if contemplating whether or not he wanted to obey, but after a moment of rare stillness and a muttered word or two from Gibbs, he turned around and dragged his boots back to Norrington, thinking a fair share of foul words and curses in his pirate mind before stopping before the commodore.

"Alright," the commodore sighed, rubbing his temple. They hadn't even started this blasted voyage and Jack was already beginning to give him a headache. "I want a_ truthful answer_ to the question: '_Where were you at ten thirty this morning?'_"

Jack looked back at the commodore for a few seconds, not moving except that he was blinking every couple of seconds, his jaw set at a crooked angle.

.…

.…

.…

"Well?"

"Well wha'?"

"I'm waiting for your answer."

"Oh, alrigh'. You do that." He looked up at the sky, entertaining himself with the shapes of the clouds and one distinctly reminded him of a bottle of rum.…

Norrington raised an eyebrow. What was he doing now? "Mister Sparrow?"

"Hm?"

The commodore threw him a look and gesture that said, "Well, let's have it!"

Jack mirrored back the shrugged shoulders and raised eyebrows that the commodore had just thrown him, causing Lieutenant Groves and Mister Gibbs to exchange amused glances with one another.

"Stop that!" the commodore growled.

"What?! Don' get angry at me, commodore– _you_ were the one who didn' specify when or where I had to tell you!"

Norrington would've groaned in frustration if he hadn't other people in his presence. Why did he do this to him? "Very well… right here, give me your answer _now_–"

"Isawsomethin'runnin'inthetreesan'decidedtofollowit," Jack rambled very quickly and then grinned crookedly.

The commodore raised an eyebrow, looking at Jack as if he thought he was the world's biggest buffoon… which he did, and it was no secret. However, regardless of the drunken façade he put up, it was evident to those who knew him well that Jack wasn't quite that stupid. There were moments when he could knock someone off their feet with his sudden brilliant genius, coming up with plans that were flawless and there were times when he'd let the mask fall and you could catch a glimpse of someone remarkably insightful and sober.… Now wasn't one of those times.

Jack let his grin change to a mock-serious mood and asked at a whisper, "_May I go now?_"

"No!" Norrington barked. "Answer again, only slower this time– _slower_!"

Jack continued his comical grin before he opened his mouth and began to answer carefully, "Yo lo ví algo en el bosque, y-"

"In English, Mr. Sparrow," the commodore almost sounded whiny– he was really beginning to tire of this game. And he did realize that Jack was tickled quite pink with delight at the apparent torment he was causing the commodore. You see, Jack had never tried doing this to such an extent to anyone before and he found it to be quite a form of entertainment. But he was beginning to run out of ideas and the game, he supposed, was beginning to drag a bit, so he finally gave in and spilled the beans.

"Well, _Captain,_" if he hadn't trained himself so, the commodore would've flinched at the oozy and sardonic tone with which Jack chose to say his temporary title– he hated that tone–"to tell you the truth, I saw somethin' … _odd_ i' the woods. In fact, t'was so odd, that I daresay it _more_ than deserved my attention for tha' full hour or so tha' you say I was missin'. So, I went a-chasin' it."

Commodore Norrington looked almost lazily at Jack, seemingly in some way unconvinced. "Did this odd something have any qualities that were female or alcohol related, Mister Sparrow?"

Jack cocked an eyebrow at this, plastering a look of utter outrage upon his piratey visage. "Sir! How dare you suggest such a-"

"_Mr. Sparrow?_"

Jack clamped his jaw shut before giving one of his famous gold and silver grins. "No," he soughed simply and without hesitation.

"Well, then," the commodore sighed, "may I ask _what_ exactly was it that so horribly needed your undying attention?"

"Aye. You may."

The commodore rolled his eyes heavenward at the way that Jack had to always take the scenic route to get to things. Blast him. "What was it, then?"

"Me shadow."

That commodore's eyebrows knit themselves in confusion. "Your… _shadow_, Mr. Sparrow?"

"Aye. Me shadow." He looked back at the commodore, his dark eyebrows hidden beneath his bandanna with a look of innocence, as if he expected him to believe this incredulous remark, this idea.

Commodore found his temper rising rapidly at a dangerous rate. He clenched his fists and began to attempt to control his rage in his breathing. It didn't work. "Jack Sparrow, do you mean to tell me that you spent an hour and a half dillydallying in the woods chasing after your _blasted shadow_?!"

"Aye."

The commodore opened his mouth to say something and then shut it again, once; twice; three times and then, completely dumbfounded and speechless at Jack's …_stupidity_, squared his jaw, let out a growl as he turned on heel, smashing his palm against his forehead and deciding that Jack was more of a complete lunatic than he thought. Misfortunate as he was, though, Norrington knew he wasn't finished with Jack yet. "Please follow me, Mister Sparrow. And do try to keep that horrendously big mouth of yours shut unless asked otherwise to open it…_savvy_?"

Now it was Jack's turn to scowl at his mockery as he followed, grumbling to himself. No one mocked Captain Jack Sparrow without making him sour for at least a few seconds. (Need he remind himself of that stupid monkey? That was _not_ funny!)

Gibbs was busying with the drink in his flask when Jack began to pass and gave him a warning glance. Gibbs, just coming to realized he was being watched choked on the beverage and began to cough in spasms as he hastily lidded the flask and shoved it under his jacket, trying to appear normal. He coughed several times, his body still unsatisfied with the current state of his esophagus. "Cap'n?" he choked, his eyes filling with tears.

"'ead back to the _Pearl_, Gibbs…" Jack stated simply, not seeming to notice his friend's sudden throe. He began to follow after Norrington again. "Oh!" he remembered something with a high-pitched exclamation and stopped as Gibbs was finally able to breathe freely once again. "But, while yer at it– pick up some extra bottles o' rum– thanks to the weddin' our stocks have gotten quite low."

Gibbs grinned. "Aye, Cap'n."

He breathed a sigh of relief as his captain disappeared down the docks. "Too close, that one was." He pulled out his flask again as he began to make for the shops downtown. He had a job to do, and one he wasn't too upset about either.

Jack went and followed after the commodore, pleased with himself. That was a close one– he couldn't imagine having to go this whole trip without his precious drink. It didn't seem logical. Jack grinned. Rum. Heh. Sometimes he wondered whether all the fits and fusses he made were worth it. When Elizabeth…er…_burned_ his rum, was it really worth all the anger? It _was_ still a heart wrenching thought. Hm.…

Jack thought about it carefully. About the sharp, burning taste of the acid liquid coursing down his throat and the way it took away all sorts of pain, replacing it with some unusually delightful form of happiness. _Was_ it worth it? He smirked as he thought what Elizabeth would do if she heard his thoughts. '_Worth every effort, every penny_.'

"_Oof_!" he grunted as he bumped into the commodore, who, apparently, had stopped walking. "Sorry."

The naval officer didn't so much as stumble, but simply turned around, casting his normal lazy eye on Jack. He'd taken enough of a breather to contain himself… for a few minutes, anyway. "Alright, Mister Sparrow, let's confirm our plans and weigh anchors."

"Okay, firs' thing," Jack said, adjusting his tricorn so it was at an angle of his satisfaction– slightly squint and thus, perfect, "s'either _Captain_ Sparrow or Jack to you. Least ways 'til we return with the governor an' the whelp. If my dear friend, the kidnaper, hears you callin' me by that, '_Mister Sparrow_' nonsense he'll know immediately who you really are. Hate to break your heart, but you're no' exactly an unknown with pirates in these waters. Formalities must be dropped, Jimmy."

The commodore shot a fiery glare. "I will call you '_Jack_' so long as you address me as '_James_.'"

Jack held up two fingers, seemingly oblivious of the commodore's remark. "Second." He held his hands out in a '_picture this_' gesture. "I know you've been at this sort of business with savin' damsels in distress like Will– poor eunuch–for a good while, but this time we're dealin' with people who don' think the way tha' you think they think.

Norrington's face contorted into confusion, but he didn't ask on the subject of Will (partially because he didn't want to know and partially because, even if he _did_ want to know, Jack kept talking, preventing any questions.)

"Therefore, I advise you to jus' follow my lead and do exactly as I tell you."

Norrington rose an eyebrow in doubt. "Me heed to _your_ orders?"

Jack grinned and nodded, slapping the commodore on the back. "I'm glad I've gotten through to you. Now, as for your instructions–"

"– Mister Sparrow– "

"– _Jack_," Jack pressed, taking a leaf from the commodore's book. He looked the commodore in the eye with a seriousness that was so sudden it was striking. "You do me the honor of addressin' me correctly an' I'll give you the courtesy of treatin' you likewise. Do we have an accord, _James_?" He decided not to try and shake on it– last time he tried that it didn't work out.

"Very well…Jack." The commodore smirked with the pirate. At least they were beginning to make progress _somewhere_. "Please specify what, exactly, do you mean by '_instructions_?'"

"Well," Jack recklessly threw his arm around the commodore's shoulder once again, receiving a disappear of the smile and a roll of the eyes from said commodore in response, "if we want you to be able to help, then we've got to do it in a way that'll prevent our dear quarry from suspecting anything. I have thought up a good plan, but you'll have to follow it to the letter, savvy?"

The commodore's eyebrow cocked again as he responded a little bit dismally. "Aye. Savvy."

"Picking up quick, aren't we, James?"Jack grinned, flashing gold and silver.

James couldn't help but smirk a bit in response. "That we are, Jack. That we are."

"Fantastic! But, before spillin' out on all me secrets…" he licked the forefinger of his right hand and began toying thoughtfully with his moustache, "I've one question 'bout your business or there's no use goin'."

"And what could that possibly be?" With his knowledge of how strange and unpredictable Jack could be, the commodore couldn't help being sarcastic. He wasn't exactly sure if he was looking forward to what Jack was about to say, either.

"Turner." Jack stated simply. He smirked at the commodore's surprised reaction– he was catching him off-guard. "I happen to know you've held a bit of a grudge 'gainst the lad for quite some time, but now, as you realize, his fate's in your hands. I know how far your intentions reach for the governor, 'cause tha's all professional obligation and duty, et cetera. As for _Turner_– how far are you willing to go to save 'im?"

The commodore simply stood, frozen for a moment. He wasn't sure he had heard Jack correctly for a second, but it appeared that he had, for there Jack stood, patiently awaiting an answer with a stupid grin on his face. And yet, the commodore couldn't help but wonder whether or not this was all a big joke– Sparrow didn't seem the kind of man to care about anyone other than himself. Still, it appeared that he had asked the question. '_For Turner_?' His eyebrows contorted as he began to think about it.

And while he was doing so, Jack couldn't help but grin a bit. He'd asked Will the same question before they had officially set off to save Elizabeth. Will had answered without a second to lose or a second thought and Jack could remember his answer very distinctly: '_I'd die for her_.' A powerful thing to say, without a doubt. And Jack had thought that he'd back down, but he didn't– he'd meant it. When the time came that that was the only option, he didn't back down in the least, but gave himself whole-heartedly to the cause, even if it pretty much was a_ lost _cause (that stupid kid desperately needed to be taught how to direct a proper parlay).

For Will, Jack knew that Elizabeth would answer and do the same thing in a heartbeat. Those two… their hearts and minds were unbreakably twain and Jack could trust the one when the other was in danger. As for the commodore… well, Jack couldn't help but be cautious. He knew Norrington was a good bloke, but he had plenty of personal reason to abandon Will to die at the hands of some foul pirates. Will had, after all, taken his lady.

And it was, indeed an interesting thought to puzzle out. How far _was_ the commodore willing to go for William? He did indeed respect and, to a point, even _cared_ for Will, however, it wasn't always that way. In fact, there was a time where it was very, very different.

After Jack Sparrow had managed to escape, a horrible tension had existed between the two remaining gentlemen and it wasn't unnoticeable. Norrington for two months thereafter had hated William Turner, loathed him entirely. He despised absolutely everything about him, from the way he walked and talked to how wonderfully talented he was in his craft. He abhorred his face and his eyes–those blasted eyes that seemed to snatch away, to _capture_ Elizabeth every time he laid them on her. It had made him sick how Turner could make her blush and smile and laugh so effortlessly, how she visibly melted by his touch, how she was drawn to the sound of his voice. But the thing Norrington had hated above all other things was the way that he had waltzed right in and taken Elizabeth with a petty, '_I love you_,' seconds before his arrest. That was it. That was all it took. In that one instant afterwards, the commodore could see in her eyes that he had_ entirely _lost her after _years_ of struggle, while Turner had won her with one reckless pursuit and one somehow seducing sentence. And that's why he had detested him.

But Will did not hate Norrington. He never had. Rather, he pitied him and felt quite guilty whenever he laid eyes on him, for he knew very well that Norrington felt for Elizabeth as well as he did. He did not hold any contempt towards him. You see, whenever unprovoked, Will Turner was a boy–er–_man_ of a gentler, peaceful nature. His bitterness and cold manner towards the commodore in the past had been a result of the fact that Will had unconsciously dubbed Norrington the ultimate competition for Elizabeth's heart, but it had never gone anywhere near hatred. It was just rivalry. He had let his acrimony go when he heard tell of Elizabeth's engagement to the commodore and, oddly enough, after he had accepted the woeful marriage betrothal, the resentfulness never permanently returned. In fact, Will would joke that it had taken flight and found a new home- in the commodore's heart. And it was true. Will held no grudge when he thought he had lost Elizabeth, he had made peace.… But after he took Elizabeth away, that thought had made the commodore all the more enraged.

He was so bloody _perfect_! Even his faults were magnificent! He was a blacksmith…but he was so gifted that that didn't matter–he probably could become a wealthy artisan if he worked hard enough. He was a pirate…but he became one in the name of passion, love and adoration and it was labeled by the commoners of the town as 'incredibly romantic'– from the ladies – or 'a dashingly honorable deed' – from the men (and, of course, the children thought it was simply "fantastic"). And, thus he had won respect with many in an area where he should have lost it. He was brave, healthy, strong, intelligent, tremendously courteous and civil, handsome, talented, passionate, _com_passionate and even his faults were magnificent.… He_ hated_ him.

Well, it was on one night when, after returning from a celebration in honor of the arrival of a brand new ship in Port Royal's fleet, that he had been especially angry. Before the gala, he had asked Elizabeth if she would be willing to accompany him for the duration of the party. She declined graciously, explaining she had already promised herself to Will for the night. Strike one.

At the party, she and Turner seemed a bit more open with their affections toward each other. Normally, a woman would simply link arms with her escort and dance with the gentlemen for the duration of the celebration. The couple, however, seemed more content to lace their finger together in holding hands, consistently throw loving glances in other's direction and, once, Turner was so bold as to throw decorum to the wind and steal a kiss upon his lady's rosy cheek while she was in the middle of a conversation. She blushed deeply and smiled back at him before returning to her chat, clearly not disapproving. Strike two.

Finally, somewhere along the middle of the celebration, Governor Swann stood saying that he had a special announcement: after much thought and contemplation, he had agreed to give his blessing for the betrothal of his daughter, Miss Elizabeth Swann to Mister William Turner.… Strike three.…

He left in anger and with a broken heart. NaVve thought it seemed, you must understand that somewhere deep inside he had had the hope that she might return to him someday. William Turner had shattered all his hopes in one instant. It wasn't fair. _He_, James Norrington, had had her._ He, James Norrington, _had had her father's blessing….He, James Norrington, had had his heart nad hers in the palm of his hand, but then Will Turner had to come and tear them out beyond his reach, throwing James' to the wind and confiscating Elizabeth's whilst smiling genuinely to the rest of the world, pretending that he was the good-hearted victim the whole time.…

Commodore James Norrington despised, loathed and hated him more in that one night than the rest of his life combined. Locking himself up in his wealthy home alone (as he had excused the household servants to join in the celebrations for the evening), he had locked himself up with his thoughts and became violent. Overturning furniture and throwing, breaking objects of lesser weight he let out his fury. He wanted Turner to feel his hurt, to know what it's like to have the girl you love more than anything promise herself to you and then go back on her promise because she secretly loved another man. He wanted him to suffer. He wanted to take him away from Elizabeth.… He wanted to _kill_ him.

In his tirade, he picked up a sword–the sword that Will had made for him–and made to throw it in fury when something about it made him stop. Whether it was the reflection of the moon from the open window onto its golden hilt and polished blade, whether it was the cool caress the leather grip and metal guard played upon his fingers, whether it was the satisfying weight or the pleasingly perfect balance, _to this day_ he knew not. All he knew was, as he looked at that sword, it made him stop. It was so unimpaired. A weapon designed to preserve its wielder's strength, energy and life while killing with more efficiency. And yet, weapon though it was, there was something about it that was breathtakingly beautiful. Every little detail of the craftsmanship sang of skill, of talent, and of a love of the craft.

'_This is a beautiful sword_. _I expect the man who made it to show the same care and devotion to every aspect of his life. My compliments_.…'

As the words he had uttered and heard during an event that seemed eons ago echoed in his mind from out of the blue as if he had spoken or heard them again, suddenly he was still.

'_But we've got to save Will._'

'_One good deed is not enough to redeem a man of a lifetime of wickedness._'

Frozen in time.

'_We have to hunt them down, we must save her!_'

Silent.

'_Elizabeth? I'm concerned that your answer was, perhaps, less than sincere._'

'_I would not give my word lightly._'

_

> _ '_Actually, I think it'd be rather exciting to meet a pirate._'

'_Yes, I understand. But it is so wrong that I want it given unconditionally?_'

_

> _ '_Mr. Murtogg , remove this man._'

'_It is not a condition, it is a request._'

_

> _ '_Commodore, I beg you, please do this. For me…as a wedding gift._'

'_Your answer would not change mine.…You are a fine man, James._'

The images came flowing back to him in their fullness.

'_That's not good enough!_'

Images that, over time, had wandered from the truth as they played in his mind as ripples, becoming more and more stretched from the truth, perverted and incorrect in their details.

'_He is without doubt the worst pirate I have ever seen._'

'_Mr. Turner , you are not a military man, you are not a sailor. You are a blacksmith and this is not the moment for rash actions._'

'_He's a pirate!_'

In his memory, Turner had borne this lustfully hungry glint in his eyes when looking at Elizabeth.

'_Pirate or not, this man saved my life._'

And Elizabeth seemed to enjoy sending scornful looks in the commodore's direction.

'_So this is where your heart truly lies?_'

'_It is._'

Now, as the images came back to his mind in their true light-- so flawless it was as if God Himself had sent them– the commodore realized his faults.

'_I should have told you everyday from the moment I met you_.…_ I love you._' He could picture the moment clearly. In Will's eyes their was no lustful monster. There was an innocence. The innocence of someone young but without final hope offering his soul completely and unabashedly, knowing what it meant but praying with prayer upon heartfelt prayer that his cry would be heard. It was his acceptance that all was over for him. It was his last prayer: Before he died, he wanted her to know… he love her. He always had and he always would.

'_This is a beautiful sword_,' was repeated. Only, this time, he had visual images active inside his mind to help him understand why he had been at such peace at the time he uttered those accursed words. '_I expect the man who made it to show the same care and devotion to every aspect of his life. My compliments_.…' He smiled at Will, awaiting his reaction. The boy stood there, garbed in pirate hat and cape, turning things over in his eyes. In Norrington's memory he had smirked, figuratively spitting in his face at his victory. He eyes had flashed with a mocking fire, and it had stabbed pins into the commodore's heart. But, as he now studied the lad's face, waiting for that scorn to come and steeling himself for some odd hurt… he found in never came. His memory was wrong.

'_Elizabeth!_'

'_The rocks, sir! It's a miracle she missed them!_'

'_Do not make the mistake of thinking you are the only man here who cares for Elizabeth ._'

A flurry of feelings flashed before Will's eyes, all too quick for the commodore to grasp and read properly. But finally one singular emotion blazed forth, shining with a brilliance that took the commodore aback. Will's lips did indeed twitch, but there was no smirk. It was a gentle smile, quick and subtle, but testifying of the same thing that radiated in his shining orbs. It was evident that he held no scorn for the commodore, nor any superiority. James nearly gasped as he realized…

'_Thank you_.'

…Will was grateful.

He dropped his sword with a shuddering and clash and became enveloped in waves of guilt and shame. He had wanted Will to hurt, to feel his pain, to _die_. But what he hadn't realized is that Will did hurt. He had felt his pain. And, in his heart of hearts, he _had _died–the commodore had killed him. Will had known and understood the commodore's agony to the same magnitude from when she consented to marry James. He had probably sampled it before, when he fell in love with the girl and realized: he could never have her. He knew the commodore's pain. He had felt it. And yet, he had acted more like a man than James, his senior.

'…_Thank you_.…'

In that one moment everything changed. He immediately went back to the party. Grasping Will's hand firmly, he grinned the first real grin he'd given in months and said simply, knowing Will would catch the small double meaning, '_As expected, done with proper care and devotion, Turner. My compliments_.' Will beamed. That night was the beginning of a fast and firm friendship that no one had foreseen, and he was grateful he had let go.

'_Oh, and Miss Swann? The very best of luck to you both._'

Norrington smiled as his thoughts began to turn at a slower pace in his head, bringing him back to the present. He had a question to answer and his thoughts had digressed: Should the opportunity arise that, for whatever reason, he could easily save the governor but, to a point, have to sacrifice to rescue the boy, would he do it? That was, after all, just all he was: a boy– not even one of great value, just a blacksmith– who was barely into manhood. He still had years of life to discover, to learn, to know, to experience.

'_For heaven's sake– he'd literally _just_ married! He still has yet to discover the true meaning of the words '_husband_' and even '_father_.' He has the opportunity to live a life to the fullest, learning and teaching, living and dying, giving and taking. In fact, that's something _every_ boy and man has the potential to have… even me._'

It was hard question, as the future held many surprises, but he was sure he knew the answer. He was sure. "You know what, Jack? That's a very interesting question. And I've had to think about it for a while, but I think I know the answer: I'll go as far as my strength can take me."

Jack smirked back in reply. "You sure?"

The commodore shrugged, his face back to it's normal, casually cool and patient self and his posture as military as ever. But in his eyes there was a strange warmth and what seemed to Jack a very misplaced twinkle. "Believe it or not, all grudges were put in the past long ago; to the point that, I believe I might consider Will…my friend…. A very good friend."

Jack grinned. That was just what he wanted to hear. "Oh, good!" He spun on heel and began to make for the town, expecting the commodore to follow. "No worries, then!"

* * *

It was more or less half an hour past high noon when the ships finally weighed anchor, hoisted their sails and began the voyage–twelve twenty two, if you wish to be precise. The sun was out, the wind was in their favor and, to Mr. Murtogg's and Mullroy's great delights, a very colorful butterfly landed on the helm of the '_Tradesmen's Trove_' (as she shall be called from this time forward) and there stayed until the quartermaster gave it a turn, oblivious to its presence. Sailors, as you may know, can be quite superstitious. They believe many things that normal landlubbers would deem absurd, but, unfortunately, some of those tall tales are far shorter than they seem. I do not know how true or false this one particular belief is, but as the saying goes, a butterfly aboard your ship assures the blessing of a safe journey. 

The men aboard the _Black Pearl_ were not so lucky. Rather, they were being bombarded with pesky seagulls.

"Dumb birds!" Gibbs cursed aloud as he managed to swat one off the rail with a swing of his mop. The thing let out an awful squawk before it went tumbling aft and, regaining its composure in midair, began taking flight after the ship.

Cotton's parrot gave a low growl in its gizzard, eyeing the fowl disapprovingly before it muttered in agreement, "Dumb birds," and tucked its head under its wing to block out the unwanted racket. Clearly, he thought that they were a hair-brained and pathetic excuse for the name '_bird_.'

There were possibly fifty of them and they all were following the ship. One of the sailors was stupid enough to bring a bit of fish and leave it out in the open for the sea-pigeons to discover. Normally, just one gull would have found the morsel, eaten it, and then be gone. This specific catch, for some odd reason, smelt quite a bit stronger than was usual, unfortunately. The whole bit wasn't eaten, but fell on the deck and happened to have a mass of rope placed carelessly upon it. Needless to say the birds smelt it and soon were swarming the boat in search of the fragrant source–even after Marty had managed to find and discard of it.

They were cawing and squawking and screeching and swarming about the ship in numbers that were far from pleasant. Men had to swat them to and fro and many of them got unpleasant white, messy surprise presents in their eyes, hair and on their hats and clothes.

"This is a bad omen, Jack!!!" Gibbs roared to the pirate captain as he fumbled with a large ale barrel.

"What?!" Jack called back, not even glancing from his work.

Gibbs gave a huff of disapproval. This was no time to playing with ale barrels. He waddled right up next to Jack and hollered straight into his ear, "_I said, _'_This is a bad omen, Jack_!!!'"

"_WHAT_?!" Jack asked, finally lifting his gaze from the beverage container to look at Gibbs, squinting, for some odd reason.

Gibbs eyebrows fell low with annoyance as he rolled his eyes and took a deep breath that puffed out his chest. He was preparing for a thunder: "_I SAID-_"

"_Hold on_!" Jack interrupted, pulling out his pistol and firing it into the air.

The brainless birds scattered and went their ways, but the men knew it, unfortunately, wouldn't be for long. They'd have to wait to be further out to sea before that blessing could be bestowed upon them.

"Now," Jack stuck his pistol back in his belt and turned back to boggling with the ale barrel, "what was it you were sayin'?"

"Jack," Gibbs shook his head a bit, his voice husky with despair, "s'an omen. A bad one. Y'know as well as any sailor what the birds mean."

"Not to worry," Jack replied, coolly as he unfastened what Gibbs noticed to be some sort of buckle on the side of the barrel and began fumbling with a second one further down its side. "I've been on many a journey–yeh know tha'– and if there's one thing tha' I 'ave learned s'that the birds don' mean a thing."

Gibbs shook his head in displeasure. "I dunno, Jack. I still think s'a bad omen."

"Aha!" Jack cried in triumph as he undid the second barrel buckle. He grabbed the barrel and swung it open as if had been vertically cut in half and had hidden hinges applied– which it did. "There you go, luv. Yer 'ome free!" He reached into the barrel and, to Gibbs' uttermost horror, helped out a very cramped and grumpy Elizabeth Turner. He'd smuggled her aboard!

She began to pick out the many tufts of straw that she had entangled in her soft honey tresses, coughing a bit, and looking none too pleased with the captain. "Did you absolutely _have_ to stuff the thing with straw, Jack?"

"Well, 'nless you wanted to be discovered from bein' bumped about, we 'ad to use somethin' to quiet your presence, luv," replied with a grin. "Unless, of course, you would 'ave been willin' to take off that lovely dress you have and use that to soften things up."

She glared at him with her mouth agape, no longer interested in taking the animal feed from her hair. "Jack Sparrow, that is the most _vile_-"

"Jack!" Gibbs hissed in a horrified disruption. "What were ya thinkin'?! _Two_ women onboard the _Pearl_?! Now we've got _three_ times the amount of bad luck–all thanks to the birds and yerself!"

Jack just chose to ignore his second mate's panicked yammers. "Well, when yer done pickin' that extra gold outta yer hair, I sugges' you fin' Ana an' ask if she has a spare outfit or two."

She jumped a bit as he suddenly took a large step nearer to her, coming too close for comfort. He began to stroke her cheek softly with his rough pirate hands and she could smell the rum on his breath, regardless of the fact that he hadn't drank within the last twenty four hours. She held her breath. He spoke again, huskily, looking seductively into her lovely eyes. "If not, yer free to borrow a shirt and pair o' pants from me, but… it'll come at a price."

Her eyes went wide as she came to recognize his bold endeavor and she took no time in snatching the mop that Gibbs held, slamming it were it counts. Jack grunted in pain but his pride wouldn't allow him to crumble by the hand of a woman (who wasn't Anamaria) in front of his crew. He simply forced a painful grin through his sudden grimace.

"Disgusting pig! I'm _married_!" she snarled as she threw the mop down and stormed off in a huff, her face flushed with anger considering she had to force herself to walk away rather than strangle Jack. Not only was he the captain, after all, but the only man she knew of that could save her husband.

She took some time to cool down and eventually found Anamaria. Together, they had managed to come to a bargain: a pair of clothes for a certain amount of work on top of the chores she'd promised Jack she'd accomplish in return for smuggling her onto the _Pearl_ (she was _not_ about to let a rescue mission for her spouse and father to be attempted without her. The idea was absurd!). She also had convinced her female pirate friend that sharing a cabin would be a very good idea.

So, feeling quite successful, she decided to begin her first day of work aboard the _Black Pearl_. Unfortunately, it was in this moment of high spirits that she was called, along with Ana and Gibbs to Jack's cabin for an important meeting of sorts, and she groaned.

Jack seemed as perky as ever, however, and acted as if the previous events of the day did not happen at all (and Elizabeth couldn't help but wonder how many times he did this, as she had heard from Will he had gotten a good slap or three whilst in Tortuga).

"Right! 'Ave a seat!" he chirped as he settled himself in his chair and propped his feet unceremoniously upon his desk.

"This better be good, Jack," Anamaria threatened darkly as she took liberty of one of the chairs, turning it backwards and straddling it with her arms resting on the top of its back.

Jack ignored her. "The reason I called the lo' of you here, was so tha' we could make sure tha' the lovely 'lizabeth 'ere knows 'xactly wha's goin' on. See, if I don' inform, she'll skin me alive. An' I rather like me pretty skin, so le's quench 'er curiosity! Wha' would you like to know, Mrs. Turner?"

At first she looked about her nervously, at Gibbs' and Anamaria's faces, as if checking to see whether they approved of her presence. Finding only kindness and comradery in their gazes, she turned back to Jack, a braver, almost mischievous glint in her eyes. "Tell me everything you told the commodore. Where are we going?"

Jack stretched his arms and settled his hands comfortably behind his head. "Well, _James_ is headin' for St. Lucia with all haste possible. _We_ however won' be joinin' 'im jus' yet."

"Why not?" she implied. She was beginning to catch on that she became angry with Jack at the wrong time whilst receiving information from him. She needed to be patient until the end of the discussion had arrived, but it was hard.

"Because s'too obvious tha' the commodore is helpin' us if he follows us – this I explained to 'im. _So_ we decided t'would be bes' if 'e sails into port a week before us, an' pretend to have no relation with us. It also makes an appearance for any spies that Foulkes may have left behind that suggests we're listenin' to his request an' not tellin' the Navy nothin' whilst we part ways."

"That makes sense," Elizabeth agreed, thoughtfully. "So, while they're in St. Lucia, where are we going?"

Jack grinned. "I 'ave a hunch tha' if we make a very special stop in a very special place we'll fin' very special an' valuable information– an' no, s'not a brothel; though it does contain many."

Elizabeth an eyebrow as she began to understand what Jack was shooting at. "Tortuga?" After hearing descriptions of it and the tale of his experience there from Will, Elizabeth wasn't sure that going there would ever be a wise thing for her.

But Jack smirked. Elizabeth always was a very quick girl. Sharp-witted. Good thing to have around in a tight spot and yet sometimes a pain in the butt.… Just like her whelp of a husband.

"And what, may I inquire, does this so-called '_hunch_' suggest we might find?" Anamaria asked know, ever impatient with Jack. There were times where he seemed so out of it that she couldn't be sure whether he was drunk or just faking it; nor was she sure of whether to trust him or not in these instances.

Jack took out his pistol and began to examine it, polishing the barrel vigorously with the pinstriped sash about his waist upon finding a smudge. "Well, I don' quite know. Could be anythin' really. My guess is good information, but, whatever it is, my hunch is tellin' me we'll fin' somethin'."

Elizabeth stood and made for the door, a pleased and content expression gracing her. "Well, Jack. If I have any more questions, I'll shall make them known to you."

"Oh, joy," he mumbled to himself, sarcastically. He couldn't help it really. Her inquisitiveness wasn't one of his favorite traits belonging to her. In fact, her mind got in the way of almost everything. He much preferred her body. "Why am I not surprised?"

"The only thing I have to say is that it better be a _very_ good hunch, or else I'll have to hurt again for getting my hopes up," she continued, not noticing his grumbling.

He put his gun down and grinned jauntily. "Oh, s'a good hunch, luv. A _bloody_ good one."

* * *

William Turner had never hated being on a ship more in his life. He loved ships. He loved the way they rocked back in forth at the mercy of her majesty, the Sea. And he especially delighted in challenging her. Attempting to conquer her by surviving lightning flash after lightning flash and conquesting one wave swell at a time. He relished the smell and taste of salt upon his lips as the wind blew about, whipping through his hair and kissing his skin. And the sound of the flap of canvas sails or creaking bows or cawing gulls were things of comfort, pacifying his soul. 

Now, however, as he sat in the brig of a dark prison; feeling the rock of the sea, hearing the creaking of bows and smelling salt from the fishy depths beyond was all but pacifying. He was enveloped in dark thoughts, being by himself. He didn't know what day it was or the location of the ship he was on. Truth be told, he didn't know much except that all his comrades had been killed and that he was on a ship that should never have been built, unable to escape.

He didn't know how long he had been there, locked up in that musky dungeon with only the rats for company, as he could not see the light of the sun or _any_ light for that matter. He'd lacked light for so long that he began to wonder whether the ship hadn't just sunk and he hadn't realized.

'_No_,' he thought swarthily, '_the ship would've stopped rocking, then_. _And there's no water in here.…_'

No water. He licked his dry, cracked lips. He got three servings of water a day. Three meager servings of dirty, contaminated water. But he drank it, too parched to turn it away or care about the illnesses he could receive as a result from it. He hadn't used his voice in so long and his throat was as dry as a barren wasteland–he didn't know if he could speak anymore. And he was hungry. Helpings of food weren't exactly generous there.

As if to confirm it, his stomach grumbled, uncomfortably demanding for the food it could not have until the right time came. The opportune moment.… It was calling for the proper amount, not some sparse serving that could be held in the palm of one of his rough hands. But he knew that such a stomach-filling helping wouldn't be coming in the near future.

Oh, he had faith that he'd get out of there. Some day. Fortune was a fickle lady and was bound grant a man luck sometime. He let out a wry laugh as he began to toy with the smooth metal of the band that hugged his wedding finger.

'_I haven't had a run of good luck in a long time_… _not before since I got here, anyway_. _Of course, Jack must've had plenty of these sort of runs in his lifetime_.… _I know I've had my share_.'

His sagging belly cried forth again, pleading for nourishment like a newborn babe begging the same from it's mother. He let his head fall back against the dark planks of wood that made the bulkhead, still absentmindedly palpating the piece of jewelry upon his left hand.

'_I'm bound to have some good luck soon_.…'

Heavy, padded thumps upon a wooden surface could be heard from somewhere in the dark obscurity before, across the room to the man's right, the opening of a door and the light of a lantern announced that, finally, his stomach could be at least slightly satisfied. It was dinnertime.

"Oi!" a husky voice came from the light's direction, as it's holder turned up it's light to reveal two grungy looking men, one tall, gangly, stupid looking and clutching the lantern in a bony hand, the other short, stocky and with a very less-than-kind appearance. Both had very bad teeth.

The short one, with matted, dull, dirty blond hair (balding at his head's top, mind you), a wispy beard, a scar testifying to a split bottom lip, skin tinted a brownish red from too much time spent in the sun and a very yellow color to what was supposed to be the whites of his bloodshot hazel eyes was the one who has spoken. "Turner! We brought your rations!"

The tall, stupid one giggled – er– well, _stupidly_, and William Turner smirked. If you could tell in the scanty lantern light, this taller one had only one real eye. The right eye, which was a slight lighter shade of blue than the other, moved in strange, jerky movements and to queer angles every now and then, squeaking as it did so. And its texture suggested that the small orb was made of wood.

"Shiver me timbers," Turner spoke, his voice deep but slightly cracked and raspy from its lack of use, "I don't see what's so funny Ragetti. Did you just figure out the punch line to that joke I told way back when? Bit slow on the uptake, aren't you?"

Ragetti's titters immediately stopped and any sign that he had ever found anything funny disappeared as he scowled bitterly at the prisoner. "Stupid blighter," he mumbled.

But the shorter of the two stepped forward, carrying a small bowl of stew and a slice of stale bread in his grimy hands. "Captain says," he began to snarl as he handed the meal to Mister Turner, "you'd better begin to watch your tongue or you'll be losin' it soon."

"Liar," William hissed as he dipped his bread into the watery stew. "The man needs my tongue if he's to get what he wants. He wont be cutting it out any time soon." He looked up with mischievous eyes as he tore at his bread, awaiting his administrator's violent response.

But all he got was the rumble of a growl from deep inside his captor's throat and a heated glare as he stood and made his way back to the door, where Ragetti was still frowning.

"Oi, Pintel!" he called after the sea rat, causing the short man to stop with a grunt. Shoving another piece of bread into his mouth, Mister Turner continued, "Speaking of said captain, would you do me a favor?"

Another growl. "Depends on jus' what dat would be." He sounded vexed, but that didn't bother the prisoner.

"Deliver a message, for me, would ya?"

Pintel grunted his consent, rather than obliged with words. He didn't work. And he especially didn't like delivering messages and being a carrier– he liked killing them.

"Tell our dear Captain that I said he's a bastard.… We all know how much Hector Barbossa loves that."

Pintel turned around and gave a sickly grin, its ominous feeling magnified by the pale flickering light of the lamp, his teeth dark and yet reflecting the scant light on their slimy surface. "Comin' from you, he loves it more than anythin'… Bootstrap."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**(_Sighs_.)Okay, I'll admit it. It's neither one of my longest nor my best chapters. Funny how the simplest ones can be so complex to write, though.... The ties between the Prologue and the story are starting to get hinted on, as you can see. (Major explanations came through last chapter, but-just a warning-not all of them were complete....) I like to take on the movie format and let you guys catch on piece by piece, till you reach the ending and then totally understand it. Kinda like a puzzle, I guess. 

OH! And I had a brainwave a few days ago and have come up with the perfect climax and ending. This is going to great. I've finally figured out what I want this to be about... I wasn't sure at first. Isn't that sad?! But I got the basic plot down now- it's kinda long. But I hope it's to your satisfaction(s)!

So- yet again- patience, my poppets. (I just decided I like that word. British slang can be so fun!)

**Crazy Pigwidgeon**- Oh good! You were only waiting with a pitchfork! I was afraid you were going to grab a guillotine... (Sorry, bad French joke. I didn't mean any offense, if you took some.)Sorry about freakin' you out. A less freaky beginning and more relaxing pace for this chapter, 'kay? And if you're _basic_ in your English, then I would like to know what is _Intermediate_ and _Advanced_. 'cause you sure fooled me! I thought you were at one of those levels!

**Ila- **I'm crossing my fingers and hoping I didn't ruin your Jack. It's so easy to overboard with him and make him just plain stupid. Fourteen, eh? Well, have confidence in yourself, my dear. The only thing I can say is: '_Practice makes perfect_!' And, trust me, it really does! - If you don't like what I've done for Will, you're going to _hate_ the first part of the ending. Bwah ha ha ha ha.... But I feel bad for Will too. He's a good guy.

**Quiet Infinity**- I hoped that your head spinning was a good thing. No, seriously. You got good guts girl. You should listen to your instincts about this captain... alot of them are right. I'm going to have to watch out with you- you'll figure everything out before it happens! I'm glad you like the W/E stuff. I have to say your opinions on all of that run perfectly align with mine. Sweet, huh?

**RareReality**- Gee! Enthusiastic, aren't you? I hope this chapter didn't change your opinion on my fic... really. YAY!!! Someone who like Murtogg and Mullroy. That bit was one of my favorites and I only had **1** review on it! T-T .... But then you came along! Now I have **2**!!! Funny though. My audience seem to think that my funniest joke was a salutation line that I didn't even think about much when I wrote it. Pretty weird, huh?

**Williz**- Alright, like the rose analogy. I don't mind at all! Thanks for your compliments and support- it really is encouraging!

So... I need to get to work on the next chapter! We need to know what's happening with Will and Weatherby- we've abandoned them! Gah! Hope to hear from you guys soon!

Jack E.


	7. They're Angry

DISCLAIMER:_ I do not and will never own any of the characters or settings appearing in this chapter. They were conceived by Ted Elliot & Terry Rossio, Jay Wolpert and Stuart Beattie and are owned by Disney Enterprises, Inc. Some of the dialogue can be connected to the first film and, hence, is not mine but was inserted into the story to put connections between my story and the film. _

**Chapter 6  
**_"They're Angry...."_

Stumbling out from the dark, dank brig into a dimly lit hallway with his comrade, lantern in hand, it was difficult for Ragetti to refrain from grumbling and murmuring to himself– so he didn't refrain.

"Bloody pirate," he grumbled over the scuffle of his shoes against the wooden planks upon which he walked. His voice had the sound of a whale in song– round and deep in feel and yet not quite so in pitch. "Call me slow on the uptake, 'e did. I'll show 'im."

"Shut up," Pintel puled gruffly, slapping his trailing companion harshly from over his shoulder. "Blast it, 'e insults ya every single time ya step into that stuffy 'ell, an' ya always act like s'not normal or nothin'. 'e's called you _'smelly,''slow_,' '_stupid_,' '_harebrained_,'a '_woman_,' a '_pig-nosed bug-eyed two-headed git_,' uh..." he faltered, trying to recall other affronts that had been batted at his ally.

Ragetti decided to help with Pintel's dilemma, suggesting, "Stupid?" over Pintel's shoulder, a hopeful look barely visible in the swaying shadows caused by the swinging lantern.

"No, I already said that, ya fool!" Pintel growled back with a sharp glance behind him.

"Oh...righ'." He became downcast, as was custom in these sort of conversations.

"No, what was that one insult he had the other day?" Pintel thought aloud as he stopped his face-paced steps and placed himself at a firm stop in front of a door. He rubbed his whiskery chin thoughtfully before turning around to ask his friend directly. "Tha' one big word?"

Now, yes he would have liked said word to come to mind, but, in all respects, if it didn't come to him instantly, then Pintel honestly didn't care whether the word was recalled or not. It was just a stupid word, after all– who would give the dumb thing more than a passing thought? He sighed, deciding to let it pass and turned to his friend, opening his mouth to speak. But he did not speak. Rather he snapped his jaw shut and cocked his eyebrow in a slightly amused manner.

Ragetti stared back at him– actually _past_ him, his face slackened in excessive thought, his brows furrowed in almighty speculation and his real eye rigidly fixed on where Pintel's face stood whilst his wooden eye twitched lightly back and forth in his mental exercise, squeaking quietly as it did so.

Pintel heaved a great sigh, rolling his eyes around in annoyance. "Never mind, you!" he growled as he clasped Ragetti's shoulder in an iron-vice grip. "S'not important– jus' forget about it!" And he opened the door that they stood before, swung his friend in front of him and shoved him out the door without a thought of gentleness, shutting it behind him something much louder than a simple snap.

The wind was a good strong breeze and the ship fairly steady as she cut through the water as smoothly as a knife cuts through warm butter. And the ship herself... she was a beauty. Once. Yes, in some respects she _still_ was, but the majesty that her crew held her in wasn't what her full potential promised. The wood was a rich and beautiful black. Once. Now, it was faded and dull and her dark sails, though_ once _regal, now flapped about the wind in shreds, apparently futile to any of the most ignorant of sailors. But, under the light of a clouded-over moon, the vessel cruised through the crystalline Caribbean waters with the speed of any good ship under full-sail. An unusual sight, to be sure. It was a marvel that she could manage so much as a creep or hobble! But there she was, moving along with enough tempo to make up for her shabbiness.

Pintel and Ragetti swaggered their ways onto the main decks of the large vessel, where the crew was buzzing about, doing whatever business was theirs. _What_ it was wasn't any of my business–nor anyone else's.

Pintel inhaled a deep, hearty breath and sighed. It was good to be out of that brig, no matter how quickly they were in and out. It was so stuffy, musty and the rats smelled something awful. Oh yes... there were rats on the ship. A good plenty of them.

"Aye, it's good there ain't no fog about anymore– eh, Reg?"

"Uh...yeah," Ragetti answered a bit absent-mindedly, obviously not paying attention. Something in the rigging seemed to be of great importance to him.

Pintel frowned to himself as he attempted to see whatever it was that Ragetti was looking at. Espying nothing but fellow pirates, lines, pulleys, yards, sails and other rigging items that he looked at everyday onboard a ship, he soon lost interest, deciding his friend had been lost momentarily to his over-active imagination. He stretched his arms and yawned lazily. He'd like a good nap before his watch.

A large, dark hand landed heavily on Pintel's shoulder and he only just refrained from letting out a sharp yip in response as he went rigid. The hand was far too strong for Ragetti– in fact, he knew that grip all too well, belonging to someone far less friendly. He turned around to come eye-to-eye with the bo'sun– a very tall, broad and muscular black man, with a voice as deep as anyone could possibly get and ornaments decorating him that suggested his originating from a western civilization in Africa.

He grinned none too kindly, his mouth full of dirty, crooked teeth and his eyes, although not threatening at the time, menacing in their off-color sheen. Just as quickly as his grin slid on it slid back off into a slack, cold expression.

"Cap'n wants ya," he rumbled frankly.

Pintel would've scowled if it weren't for the ultimate fear he had of the black behemoth– for he also had a great dislike for the man and his hectoring ways. Instead, he grinned toothily and _very _constrainedly, giving a strange timid wave as he managed to squeak, "_Okay_," between gritted teeth.

The bo'sun rolled his eyes in evident disgust and annoyance before he continued on his way. He held no respect for this one nor the witless pathetic excuse for a crewman that he called his friend. They were useless for everything except playing pawns, as he was concerned. Had no brains at all– though they had enough bronze and bravery to handle whatever situation they faced... but that had been due to the curse.

Pintel threw a sour look after the man. No, he didn't like him at _all_. The man was so arrogant and haughty that he didn't even bother to tell anyone aboard the ship his name. They just called him '_Bo'sun_,' because he was the bo'sun and that was the closest thing they had to an actual identification. They didn't even know exactly where he was from or any specific information of that sort. He mostly just kept to himself and glared at anybody who dared attempt conversation with him– friendly or not.

The short, greasy pirate's attention was drawn by the faint squeaking and creaking of wood directly behind him and he turned around to see Ragetti also staring after Bo'sun– though a bit more dumbly than heatedly– as he steadily but vigorously rubbed at his wooden eye with a balled right hand, creating a soft creak with each rubbing motion of his fist.

Pintel snorted. If he complained about splinters in his sockets so much, then why didn't he ever just _stop_ rubbing the useless thing? Didn't use his brain, this one.... Of course, this _was_ Ragetti. The man wasn't exactly known for his genius and Pintel frowned as he recalled this, slapping his mate's hand away.

"_Stop_. _Rubbing_. _It_. Why do I always have ta be your, mother?!" he snarled in a vexed tone.

Ragetti threw him an outraged (and yet lethargic) look at him. "I loved my mother!"

"Shut up!"

"Sorry," Ragetti muttered as he placed a shaky hand to his mouth as if unsure what to do with it, his face contorted with worry at the displeasure he'd caused.

Pintel shot him an annoyed and disapproving gaze, but Ragetti, eyes darting about the rigging uncertainly once again, didn't make out his friend's stare until Pintel had already rolled his eyes much like the bo'sun and marched off to the captain's cabin in a huff.

With a sudden loud screech a monkey leapt from the rigging, landing on the ship's rail beside Ragetti and causing him to jump in catching him off guard before it scampered off in the direction of the cabin, passing Pintel. Gathering his wits about him and clutching the metal lamp firmly in his awkward hands still, Ragetti swallowed to wet his dry throat and also in turn went to answer to his captain's bidding.

The ship resembled the last ship they had held: the _Black Pearl_. Strikingly. Thus, seeing their captain, Hector Barbossa, nestled comfortably behind a large mahogany desk, absentmindedly stroking the ship monkey as it was perched on the armrest of a large comfy chair and having a form of repulsed scowl placed upon his countenance was nothing new to them. (Though once Ragetti entered the cabin, he immediately began casting confused glances about the small enclosure, his eyebrows knit as if he were trying to remember something he had forgotten.)

If Jack or Will or Elizabeth had been in the room they would have noted on how little the man had changed since they had last seen him. In fact, the clothes he wore seemed to be just as much the same as they had been two years ago. Now, of course, he donned the white billowy shirt that all pirates– er– _people of lower class_ wore in the Caribbean. Rather than a plain, scratchy brown vest like Will and Jack wore, Captain Barbossa had his own taste. A silken vest of reds, rubies, golds, purples and other magnificent colors scattered amongst a collage of small, oriental-like designs...that was his preference.

But it was hard to tell that he wore such light colors. For, other than the reddish belt, brown pouch and yellow sash, Barbossa wore black pants and boots, a large coal-grey coat and large-  
rimmed black hat topped off with a very long black plume (although, I assure you, the feather atop Will's most decorative chapeau is more than enough competition). The only other thing that I have not mentioned is the green bandanna that he tied around his head... that sat under his large hat.

And yes, like most pirates, Barbossa loved pretty little trinkets and bobbles. Just like Jack Sparrow had his share of rings and beads, Hector had his own little treasures, though his were few in number. A large ring that was intricately carved with many flowing gold designs and had a golden lion's head placed atop a black onyx stone, though not adorned with a jewel of great value, presided on his right-handed ring finger. Other than the cross-like pendant that he wore on a chain around his neck, that was his only artifact of jewelry.

But I digress. True, his clothing and ornaments remained the same as ever– from the buckles on his boots to the polish of his pistol and sword. But Barbossa himself also seemed unchanged. His hair was still red and shoulder-length in wavy locks of copper and his beard as wispy as a breath of cloud. The skin on his face was still pulled taught from years of walking upon this earth; his cheeks still glistening from having burnt and healed in the same places a hundred times over and a two inch scar from a cut under his right eye from some untold past happening. Then his hands. Those awful hands which were coated a hundred times over in blood. The nails on those hands were long, thick, cracked and yellowed and the scales he attempted to call 'skin' that wrapped about his hands were so dark and coarse that Will's callused blacksmith hands, rough as they were, were as soft and pure as a newborn babe's belly in comparison. And his eyes...believe it or not, Barbossa's blue and yellow eyes bore testimony of a soul that was even darker and more crass than that of his hands. He had a heart blacker than coal.... No, upon first glance Barbossa hadn't changed one bit and in some ways that was very good and in others... it was a pity.

Pintel smirked respectably enough (for a pirate of his standards) as he slowly cocked his head to one side, presenting an air of casual and cool without disrespect as his smirk warmed up to a more smooth tight-lipped grin.

"Captain....You wished to see us?"

Barbossa smirked back, inclining his head with approval and his gnarled fingers still running through the monkey's dirty fur.

He opened his mouth to respond, revealing what was possibly the dirtiest set of teeth on the entire ship, "I had the bo'sun down a few days ago to check up on our little guest." His voice had a wispy and sometimes raspy quality to it but a keen edge, nonetheless. "Apparently, he either hasn't been eatin' or someone hasn't been feedin' him properly, because he's lost plenty o' meat off of 'is bones in the last few weeks."

Pintel watched his captain with patience– something he saved for only this person.

Barbossa smiled. A smile that was about as sweet as unsugared cocoa and yet very sarcastic. "Ye wouldn' jus' so happen to know wha' be goin' on there, would ya?"

"Well, cap'n," Pintel sighed casually but with an amused air, "truth is tha' the ol' cook ain't fond of ol' Bootstrap. Only gives him one meal a day, tha' one." He shook his head as if in pity– but the mischievous glint in his eyes and smirk ruined the effect.

Barbossa smirked as well, a small laugh escaping his lips. "S'that all?"

The pirate nodded as he threw a glance at his crony. Ragetti had remained silent for the entirety of the tiny meeting and currently still had an excruciatingly thoughtful look on his face as if he were trying to remember something long lost from his memory. Pintel cocked an eyebrow but thought nothing of it with a shrug of his shoulders as he turned to leave, Ragetti jolting out of his reverie to follow. "Guess we'll be goin', Captain."

"Aye, Captain," Ragetti muttered.

"Now, hold on, jus' a minute," Barbossa's harsh drawling voice called out coldly and commanding regardless of its softness.

Ragetti halted immediately and turned full circle to look at Barbossa for a few seconds before his mind visibly wandered away.

Pintel stopped stiffly and tense. He could not see Barbossa, but being so long in the presence of the man made it so he could picture almost exactly what was going on behind his back. He could picture his face with the dangerously low tone in his voice that had come: a menacing and blood-chilling glare. The hairs on the back of his sweaty neck prickled. The captain was angry. Barbossa was hungry...for blood.

"There's somethin' yer hidin' from me, Pintel. No need to deny the facts because I can smell it. Watcha got behind that spineless back o' yourn?"

Pintel visibly tensed as he gritted his teeth and refrained from muttering the curses coursing through his head out loud. "There ain't nothin'...Captain," he grumbled.

Barbossa's displeased expression edged more toward angry as his eyebrows furrowed. He stood slowly and the monkey, finding that it would receive no more pampering leapt off the chair and scampered out the door–which none of the three men seemed to notice was open a slight.

"Oh there's somethin'." Barbossa held a wise look in his eye, along with the angry fire. "Plenty o' somethin'. I know it. I've seen the looks of the crew of late. What's goin' on Pintel?"

Pintel hesitated. Truth be told, Barbossa was right. There _was_ something. But he couldn't let on to it– it could mean his life. The choice of words had to be convincing without giving away what he had sworn to keep secret. The choice of words had to be careful.

He stood still for several seconds, his back still full facing Barbossa, before he finally spoke, calmly. "What to do you suspect?"

Barbossa also took a moment before he walked around the table with slow, careful steps. The soft thud and jingle of each time a heavily booted foot touched the wooden flooring loud and distinct in Pintel's ears. He crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back to half-sit upon his desk. "Wha' do ya think?"

Pintel hesitated. Again, his words had be perfect. If he answered wrong, Barbossa would know. But, to Pintel's horror, before he could create an answer, it was then that Ragetti had to get a brainwave and recall the word that Bootstrap had labeled on him.

"Lethargic twit," he mumbled to himself.

Barbossa's gaze shot knives in Ragetti's direction. "I beg yer pardon?" His voice held an ominously menacing quality to it.

Ragetti looked up, confused for a moment before his eyes went wide with realization at the pickle he'd gotten himself into. "I-I mean– I didn't mean– s'all a mistake–"

Barbossa's glare heated further, fire seeming to brim in his eyes. "You dare to affront the captain of yer ship?" he hissed as he approached the stupid pirate with anger in his very walk. Ragetti flinched, preparing to receive a blow (when, in all honesty, he probably only would've gotten several weeks of extra deck-scrubbing).

"Leave 'im alone, Barbossa," Pintel sighed and Barbossa froze to look at Pintel, half curious have affronted that Pintel would even in the least defy him. "'e wasn't referrin' to you. The git has spent the last half an hour tryin't remember an insult Bootstrap called 'im a while back. Bad timin's the one to blame."

There was silence. Pintel risked glancing over his shoulder. A sharp and lightning-quick chill ran up his spine as his gaze met his leader's and he sharply looked away. But he sighed heavily. He would have to turn around now. He had looked and to stay facing in the opposite direction– that'd only add to Barbossa's suspicions that something was up. So, hesitantly, he circled round to face the man behind him.

He looked at Barbossa cautiously before speaking. "If ye want to know what I think, I best be tellin' you now, I suppose....The crew is restless."

Barbossa's anger diminished and, after taking a set of cooling breaths as he sauntered back round the table, he dropped into his chair, Ragetti dropping his great flinch slowly and opening his good eye to ascertain whether his realization that nothing was going to happen to him for his great blunder was real.

Now, Master Pintel is not a very observant bloke. Little details are of little importance to him, and great impatience from years of pressure under a curse didn't help reduce it. But it was at this seemingly unimportant particular moment that Pintel noticed a rigid tenseness residing in his commander's shoulders.

He scowled, suddenly finding a form of courage and defiance inside him. "You know they're angry, don't ya?"

Barbossa looked up sharply at Pintel– a nigh untraceable hint of shock locked away in his tired, pale blue orbs. "What? Who? The crew?"

"No," he replied darkly, and Ragetti also joined Barbossa in looking at him curiously. "Them Aztec Heathens– them gods. They're angry with us...." His scowl deepened into a sickly glare as Barbossa decidedly cast his gaze else where, glaring at some corner in the cabin. His plans were flawed, and due to the trail of the conversation, even Ragetti's attention was fully caught now.

"Why're we not doin' what they told us to do, Barbossa? Why're we dawdlin'?"

"We're not dawdlin'," Barbossa snapped back hotly.

"Then why'd we stop to grab Bootstrap's brat?" Pintel retorted, his own anger rising in it's turn. "That's not what they asked us to do. What're you up to, Barbossa?"

"Tha's _Captain_ Barbossa to you," Barbossa hissed through gritted teeth. He wasn't at all pleased with the sudden defiance he was receiving from one of his most trusted men. "We're doin jus' as them gods told us– we got the chest didn't we? Jus' because we're running a few errands of our own along the way doesn't mean that their angry at us. We'll find that coin. There's no need for your fussin'...." Barbossa's voice softened and he suddenly seemed to calm over before Pintel's eyes as he slouched back into his chair. "No need to fear..."

A growl emitted from Pintel's stubby throat, accompanied by a glare from Ragetti as he finally began to understand the argument at hand.

"Stupid blighter," he uttered softly.

"Point is," Barbossa continued unheedingly, "we're gettin' the job done. Dawdlin' would be slowin' down for no apparent reason. But for us...that's not the case. The reasons for our delays are well enough, gents, I assure you." He paused as he looked back at Pintel and Ragetti, as confident and cool as ever and a sarcastic half-hearted smirk on his old, sun-worn face. "Yer dismissed."

Pintel scowled and Ragetti turned to leave. As his friend turned to follow suit he looked skeptical and angry. Then he stepped out the partially opened door into the night.

"Stupid blighter," Ragetti repeated, a swarthy look upon his brow.

"I know," Pintel muttered as they marched back onto the main deck. "'e's gonna be the damnation of us all...." He faded out as he looked about himself, a bemused look worthy of Ragetti gleaming in his yellow-stained eyes.

The ship was clear of men now. Crew members who had been busily working were suddenly absent. The only sound to be heard was the gentle creaking of worn rigging calling from up high and the only sight was the silhouette of the sails and deck placed across the clouded moon.

"'ey...where'd everybody go?"

For the second time, a large dark hand fell weightily upon Pintel's shoulder, and he jumped internally at the surprise.

A boomingly deep voice resounded from over the back of his head. "We've been waitin' for you two."

* * *

The smell in the air was all too familiar, the sights too acquainted, the sounds. Men grabbed their finely polished blades and guns, placing them into their belts and taking them into hand with stony faces as preparation for the time at hand. The time that belonged to them. 

Twigg and Koehler wordlessly lit lanterns and torches, passing them out to all but the few who were assigned an especially important and somewhat difficult task. And with lights in one hand, weapons in the other, the men assembled before the door leading down to the depths of the brig.

Bo'sun smirked to himself as he thudded loudly down the wooden steps. The crew had gathered together and talked about it when ever they could. Arguments broke out over who deserved to take the helm come sunrise and why? Too many times. In fact, it got to the point that the fighting was so frequent that they realized something: they were all too similar. All of them were greedy, backstabbing pirates who would probably make the same mistakes as any selfish bloke. They didn't need a Barbossa at the helm of their ship, they needed someone who knew how to be the greatest pirate in the Spanish Main. They needed someone who knew how to stay out of the kinds of trouble they got themselves into. They needed someone smart. Someone clever.... They needed a Sparrow.

Bo'sun opened the door of the brig with a silent creak and he stepped wordlessly into the musky room, surprising its soul captive.

Oh, they had talked about it. And they all agreed. Since Jack Sparrow would never return to them as a friend, they needed someone else. As much as they had hated him before, they needed someone who could think like Jack Sparrow. They needed it badly.... And they were lucky. They had the perfect man for the job right on this ship.

Bo'sun stuck the correct key into the key's hole and turned it, unlocking the cell with a metallic clank as the mechanisms inside the simple machine turned. He swung the door open and looked down at the man in the cell. The prisoner glared.

Bos'un smirked. They were ready. "'ey Bootstrap, I've got a bit of a proposition for ya."

* * *

Sleep was not coming easily. Something was nagging in the back of his young and troubled mind as Will lay in his new hammock, nervously twisting the smooth metal band that he had upon his finger...again. It was a habit now. Will had been doing it for several hours as he sat, wide awake in the barracks of _The Predator._ With so long of doing it, he no longer could help it. He didn't notice. He just thought. Deeply. About many things, usually. But not tonight. Tonight he only thought about one thing. 

Try as he might to get to sleep, thoughts kept pushing themselves into his mind. Thoughts surrounding the events that had occurred mere hours before. That voice, that awfully nagging voice gnawing at the back of his brain. It wouldn't go away.

'_I'm sorry, Will_.'

'..._Elizabeth has healed my life. There's no need to be sorry_.'

'_No, Will. There is a need to be.... You have to know what your father was really like...he murdered your mother...._'

His stomach turned, uncomfortably. Partly because he desired food, but over all it was because the thought disturbed him. Yes, part of the reason came from his instincts as an offspring of the persons in question. Nonetheless, there was something suspicious about the stories he had been presented with. Oh, they had made enough sense, sure enough, but as Will turned the tale over in his head he couldn't help but have a very stubborn and large part of his mind disagree with it. There was something...wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it–it was solely a gut feeling– but neither could he shake it away. The thought cast a dark sense of foreboding over his heart.

He turned over onto his side and tried to get in a comfortable enough position. Hopefully, if he relaxed enough, he would drift into a form of sleep peaceful enough to take things off his mind. He listened. Quiet groans and snores from other men emitted out of the darkness, revealing much more were there than he alone. The soft whisper of the waves could be heard from somewhere over head.... And yet sleep teased him, refusing to come home as his mind began to whirl in another storm of ideas.

'..._Your father's still alive, Will_....'

His eyebrows twitched in sudden speculation. '_What he said about Mother may not be true_,_ but what if he's right about this_? _What if he still were alive_?' he frowned as he rolled over onto his stomach, letting his cheek rest on the makeshift pillow he made with his forearm. '_But... but that would mean that he's out there somewhere_._... What if this Foulkes character _was_ telling the truth_?'

A surprise throb from somewhere inside his head caused him to stop suddenly, and he flinched. This took too much thinking for going so long without sleep. Whether it was for his thoughts or his body, tossing and turning was not doing the young man any good, and he soon came to realize it. He had been doing the same thing for a few hours and nothing had changed, after all.

First he turned to his left and he sat and thought, then he turned to his right and he sat and thought, then he turned back to left to continue his unwanted pondering, after that he laid flat on his back, attempting to distract himself with the shadows cast on the ship's bulkhead, then he rolled over onto his stomach to see if that pleased him, but it didn't. He turned around back onto his back. Left, Right, Back, Front, Back, Right, Back, Left, Front, Back, Left, Right, Sit up, Lie down, Back, Right, Left, Right, Back, Right, Front....It wasn't any good at all. Finally becoming more upset than tolerable with his state of insomnia, he rolled lazily out of his flimsy hammock, and stood upon the creaking wood.

Slipping his feet into his fancy silver shoes with their shiny buckles, he stared at them with a slow frown creasing into his brow. William sat back down with a heavy sigh of frustration and fatigue, as he turned and fingered the silken material of his jacket, which he had removed and hung on a peg near his head at night. These shoes weren't designed to be taken onto a ship adventure with pirates. The soreness of his feet proved it hours ago– when he had first put them on, in fact. Neither were his fine clothing appropriate for the situation. They weren't cut and sewn for month-long journeys and battles at sea, they were made to be endured for less than a day. A day so blissful that enduring slightly uncomfortable and achy shoes for the duration of it was far more than worth it. A special day.... A wedding day.

His frown deepened. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. He wasn't supposed to be captive on some leaky, dilapidated boat in the middle of the Caribbean right now; he was supposed to be at his new, transitory home. He wasn't supposed to be fitfully wide awake in a hammock that was too small and felt as if it were going rip and send him to the floor; he was supposed to be sleeping peacefully in the welcoming cushiness of a soft mattress, feather pillows and warm quilts. He wasn't supposed to be smelling the sent of human sweat, rotting fish and rat droppings, feeling the cold drafts breeze in from above; he was supposed to be savoring the scent of a lady's fragrant perfume– sweet and delicate as the flowers of the island on which he dwelt– and feeling... much, much more.... He wasn't supposed to be alone.

Perhaps he was acting like a child,... but he could not help it. Everything had become one big mess. Even before the ceremony things were going wrong! He had awoken late, Jack had been disruptive and then had that incident with Anamaria at the church– it seemed that there was only one moment in the whole of the day that actually went right! Everything was _supposed_ to go one way and the only thing that hadn't gone the wrong was that he and Elizabeth had, indisputably and unbreakably, been united into one as man and wife....

There he went again. Twisting the bobble that he had so quickly become attached to as his thoughts took flight for a special someone in the city of Port Royale, Jamaica. He let his head relax lazily as he did so, his body rocking in the large hanging cloth with the motions of the sea. Deciding he wasn't about to fall asleep soon, with the way his thoughts were tumbling, he stood and made his way as silent as he could onto the main deck. The air was calling him.

A soft breeze met his warm face and nipped at it sharply before his skin became accustomed to the sensation. He looked about himself, breathing deeply the freshness of it all. The sky was as clear as glass from there. Oh, he could spot a dark smudge to the south which he guessed was a gathering of clouds, but it didn't ruin the effect that the sky can have on a person when they look up at the heavens at night. It does something to you.

He wandered over to the rail, his eyes still skyward, and he smiled as his hands gripped the wood lightly, his thumb fiddling with a notch he felt.

One of the first things Will made note of after he left England as a young lad, was that the stars shone as bright as diamonds on top of black velvet reflecting noon sunlight when at sea. They were so clear, so close, so numerous that he had felt almost certain that he could reach his hand up and catch one of the glowing orbs and put it in his pocket for safekeeping. He had almost felt that if he reached high enough, his mother would come and take his hand in a gentle but loving squeeze, just to reassure him that she was there. But he had only _almost_ believed...for he'd learned angels couldn't come to him.

When he was very young, he used to watch the stars at night with his mother and sometimes his father. Will would look forward to these simple outings with great excitement. And when they finally did get on the move toward their favorite spot to sit, the lad would be literally bouncing with joy, hopping in his excitement. They'd walked down to the docks, each parent taking one hand of their precious little boy in one of their own and they would walk as a threesome, the lad in the middle. Then, once they got to the docks they'd sit and look at the stars, Will being never afraid to hop into Papa's lap and chirp, '_And what one is _dat?!' stretching a finger towards the sky gems.

Will smiled fondly to himself. Things were so simple then. Things of hurt and struggle didn't exist in his tiny world. There was no such thing as hunger, no such thing as budgets and debts, no such thing as murders and rapes and kidnapings, no such thing as betrayal, no such thing as lies, no such thing as suspicion. The contents of inside his mind was the way life would be if the world were perfect. Pure. Clean. Honest. Safe. It hadn't mattered to him that his father would leave for months at a time, as long as he came back with his ticklish kisses, his large playful hugs and his fun trinkets and games.

Later, when Will came to Port Royal and found he had no one, he would wander to the docks on his own– when he dared– and gazed at the stars, by himself. Sometimes he felt like his mother and father were with him, his mother lovingly brushing his tousled hair out of his eyes as he leaned back into his father's strong arms....And then there were times where he felt very much alone. Like he would always be alone. Sometimes he'd smile, recalling fond memories. And sometimes he'd cry, feeling that he was as unloved as some dirty street rat.... But, praises be sung to heaven, he hadn't felt that way since... he couldn't recall when exactly his loneliness began to dissipate. But he _did_ know _how_ it came to be. And he grinned thinking about it, twisting his wedding ring.

'_When I get back home_, _I'm going to have to take Elizabeth to that spot_..._she'd love it._' As he thought as much, his smile began to lose a little bit of its luster, and held that specific radiance before it faded out all together. He leaned his elbows on the hard wooden rail of the ship and pressed his fingers to his lips as he closed his eyes, tiredly.

The fact was, he missed Elizabeth. Tonight was supposed to be reserved especially for them, but it had been shattered with some madman's pride and foolhardiness–and that just made him angry and ache for her all the more. He missed her radiant smile and her melodious laugh. He missed her eyes and their ability to convey thoughts and emotions to him so richly and vividly. He missed her lunatic ideas for fun and romance–ideas that most of society would frown at. He missed her pouts and begs, her lectures and scolds and even her tirades and rampages. But currently, the thing he missed most was... her hair.

Will barely caught himself before he let out a snort of amusement, but not managing to withhold himself from cracking a smile. To others it would seem quite silly. Here he was being poetic in thinking of things with beauty and meaning in how they were said; but above all these things described and expressed he missed one of the basest most simple things the most: her hair. Of course, the humor of the thought left him as he took the time to contemplate such a thing. In a sense, it _made_ sense.

Most of his fondest memories with Elizabeth had ties of some sort to her hair. Moments in which she felt distressed or hurt, snuggling into the strength of his opened arms for safety or warmth and vigorously burying her face in his chest as if to shrink into his being and hide. He'd hold her and comfort her as he stroked the back of her neck soothingly and whispered words of peace and promise. And she'd gratefully accept his ministrations–her face remaining submerged in the nape of his neck and her hair tickling and teasing his nose and face with feel and scent.

Then, there would be the time in which _he_ was the one who would be in need of ease from a troubled soul. Warm embraces and appeasing words would calm the storm raging within him and he'd feel comforted. Forehead to forehead they'd be, and he'd reach out and touch her hair, twisting it through his fingers and winding them up in the honey tresses.

Sometimes long talks with her father would be on demand. Whether for business or because the governor was just in that mood that calls for a drink and long conversations, many hours would be spent with the three (and sometimes four, if the commodore attended) chatting and laughing. But eventually those lovely eyelids of hers would begin to droop and that pretty head of hers would bob as the night rolled on into its latest hours. Then Will would place a gentle arm around her dainty shoulders and lean her against him for rest. She would doze into a peaceful sleep and he would rest his cheek upon her head, her hair feeling silky and soft to the touch....

"Lovely night, isn't it?"

Will all but jumped before he spun around quickly to confront the speaker. But his shoulders dropped and his jaw slacked as he relaxed himself in slow realization–it was just Foulkes. Will held himself from scowling as he turned back to face the clear waters around him. '_Stupid man_.' "Yes. It's lovely."

It was silent for a moment. The soft sounds of creaking rigging reaching his alert ears. Soft footsteps made it through the quiet and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled as the despised captain took his place beside Will.

They stood there for a few minutes, the soundlessness as tangible as a brick wall between them, before Will finally turned on heel and made his way back down towards the barracks. He didn't want to talk to that man. He didn't want to have to even _look_ or _hear_ that awful man.

But his reasons for leaving weren't solely based on his dislike for the man. As he stood there, he began to feel his eyelids wanting to droop and his brain beginning to grow sluggish. At long last, his mind had begun to agree–it was time for sleep. So, he decided to return to his hammock and ultimately retire, grumbling to himself about how that '_idiotic buffoon_' had ruined his mood. Silly thing really, but–

Wait. As he was about to take a turn that lead him to the barracks, the flicker of a light caught his eye. A warm light. A flickering light. Candle light. And it was coming from the brig.

Now, Will is a decent chap, I can assure you. But, as you probably are able to tell from the tales you've heard about him, he's a curious lad when the befitting situation arises. Sometimes he could care less whether or not he knew who, what, when, where or why; but this time–call it 'fate' if you will–he wanted to know. Who would be lingering in the brig at this time of night when there wasn't anyone who was being held there?...Probably someone that wanted something to do with that chest.

'..._The _Pearl's_ crew stole the stone chest of the Aztecs and had it placed upon the _Pearl. _But, as you know, that chest is evil_. _It granted some strange power the _Pearl _that rendered its victims helpless_. _A dark power_._ And I'm not sure why, but they used it for the last time on Port Royal_. _They brought the chest along with you two and ordered us to keep it with us at all times_. _I don't like that chest, so I've put below in a place where I can't see it and now we're headed to Tortuga for reasons I don't know of._...'

A muscle below Will's eye gave an odd twitch as he thought about that. That chest was bad. There was nothing good that could come out of it or any fiddling with it. Glancing down at the cold white line of a scar that shone on his left hand, he said such thoughts to himself. No good came out of it with Barbossa, and no good could nor would come out of it. Period.

'_And whoever is fiddling with that accursed thing must be stopped lest they cause more trouble that I don't need_.'

Thus it was that William Turner decided to go and investigate. So, creeping as silently and carefully as he could find capability for, Will made his way toward the brig. The silent part was difficult, as his shoes were inclined to clack a bit as the heels connected with the wood. He attempted for several seconds to prevent the clatter, taking as light and careful steps as was possible. But it proved to be frustrating. No matter how much he tried to lay down his foot light as a feather a hollow and louder-than-pleasing _'clack'_ would emit from his foot. Eventually, he became fed up and removed his shoes all together, able to walk much quicker in his silken stockings without noise.

Needless to say, he made it to the door. The light still sliced its way through the narrow opening, and it appeared to not have moved or changed. However, whether anyone lied beyond it wasn't perceivable. He'd just have to find out by opening the door.

Will reach his hand out to give the door a light push and enter the room. But something stayed his hand and he hesitated. _If_ there was someone beyond in the brig, he didn't know who. It could've been anybody. It could've been Foulkes (though _how_ he could've gotten there before Will was beyond him), or that bumbling old Briggot...it could've even been Stripes. And if it were the angry giant, who was to stop him from avenging himself on Will, when no one was present to stop him or make witness of it?

Will gulped. With a sword, he hadn't much fear for Stripes. He now knew his strategy– which was to make short work of the fool. But _without_ a sword...Will couldn't help but notice that, blacksmith or not, he was quite flimsy in comparison to the muscular mammoth and his tiny fists would be like pebbles up against his boulder-sized hands.

...Perhaps this wasn't as good as an idea as it had seemed before? No, it wasn't. It was rash. It was best if he went to bed and did nothing about it. It wasn't his business anyway. Yes, it was definitely best to leave it be. Will gave a firm nod of his head and began to walk away.

He stopped. A sudden anger coursing through him. What sort of cowardly unmanliness was this?! He was acting like a stray dog, putting his tail between his legs and running full force in the other direction when he realized that his opponent just might be stronger than him. _Why_? He'd faced undead skeleton pirates before and he was afraid of some goliath that had a murderous temper? No. He wouldn't stand for it. He was going to get to the bottom of this if it killed him...his pride wouldn't let him do otherwise.

He stepped back up to the door and squared his jaw as if he were about to walk into a large pub and wanted to give the impression to not be messed with. He took a deep breath. And reached out his hand....

He faltered again. His thoughts were beginning to make him back out again. 'What if's and 'perhaps'es racing through his mind.

Perhaps it would've been better if he just opened the door as fast as he could. Then, if it was Stripes he could bolt away before the stupid git had any time to think about throttling him....Yes, that seemed like a fairly good plan.

And yet, Will could've kicked himself for his unmanly cowardice. He'd _never_ done this before, why was it happening now?

Biting his lip and placing his free hand firmly on the smooth wood, he decided to put such thoughts aside and get the job done. Just to follow through with '_the plan_' on the count of '..._1...2...3_!'

He shoved the door open with as much force as he could and threw his eyes frantically around the room to take in its contents as rapidly as he could. From what he could see, there was... no one. As quickly as the excitement had risen within him, it seeped away. No one was in the room.

'_That's_ _odd_....'

He poked his head through the doorframe to make sure no one was hiding in one of the corners he had been blind too. He didn't want to get attacked from something stupid like not looking behind himself, so he looked.

Nope, nobody.

He took cautious steps into the room, attuning his senses to a high awareness for the sound, look or feel of movement as he peaked behind the door to make sure no one was hiding behind the door.

Nope.

He looked back around the room, the candle light casting strange shadows along the walls, thanks to the bars of the cells. '_That's very odd_....' Why was there a candle left burning in the brig? Any right sailor knew that it was dangerous...but then again, it could've been that Briggot character. He didn't seem to be aware of what was safe and what wasn't.

Something moved out of the corner of his eye, and he spun around preparing for an assault, but it was just the odd jerk of a candle-lit shadow that had seized his attention. Nothing more. He let down his guard, half cursing himself for being so jumpy and half praising himself for being on the alert. He felt half torpid and half clever, and it was rather strange.

The shadows jerked again and he looked at the object that was casting the shadows. It was the cloth the covered the chest. Will's eyebrows shot up with inquisitiveness and surprise as he came to realize: it _had_ been disturbed.

'_So, at least some of my suspicions were right_....'

Maybe it just was where Charlie had sat before. Maybe someone had been fiddling with it. Whatever it was, we do not know, but Will came to a conclusion that caused him to get into a second round of trouble in the same night: he'd have to check it out. Placing his shoes back onto his feet, he looked at the chest warily before approaching it. It was as if he were looking it over. Which he was. The last time he laid so much as a finger on the chest it moved–on its own. Will wasn't sure how it did it or if it would do something of the sort again, but it gave him the strange feeling that the large stonework could have a mind of its own. It wasn't an easy thought to cope with, as it defied all that he had taught himself to be logical. Stone didn't think. Stone wasn't alive...except, maybe this one.

But still, in the end, stone was stone. I mean, what could it do besides throw its lid onto his foot, right? Right. So, he took a calming breath and he closed the space up between him and the chest, taking a glance around him to make sure no one had come while he was thinking. No one had.

He took hold of the cloth and ripped it off with as much force as he could muster. Such force was more than he expect, however, he ended up stumbling backwards a few steps before regaining his suddenly lost balance.

When he was standing soundly on is own two feet again, he looked back at the chest. He did not know whether to be surprised or angry. Someone had opened it. The lid lay there, half slid off from its position on top of the chest, revealing a warm, spotted reflection of shining gold coins. And, oddly enough, the icy fear that had gripped Will outside the door only seemed to suddenly grow, sending waves of chills up his spine as it squeezed his heart– but he did not know what he was afraid of.

Will scowled in retaliation and defiance. He would not be afraid. And those _coins_. He didn't want to have to look at one of those condemned things ever again. Yes, they had brought him and Elizabeth together, in a sense, but they had played their part and that was enough. He wanted nothing more to do with them.

He turned to leave the room, irate that someone would want to toy with the vile things when Foulkes even knew that they were dark– nothing but blood money. Like I said before, he wanted nothing to do with them....But, William made a mistake in not closing the lid before he turned away. What Will did not realized was that, at that moment, he didn't have much of a choice. He may not have wanted anything to do with the coins, but _they_ wanted much more to do with _him_. So much more. And so did that chest. They wouldn't let him go.

That was why as he began to take his steps towards the door, his legs began to feel heavy. Very heavy. _Abnormally_ heavy, he noticed as it began to get difficult to even lift his foot an inch off the floor. It was as if someone had gotten hold of a canon and tied it to his ankles with heavy chains.

It was too weighty. He soon found he couldn't move at all. His feet would not leave the ground, burdensome with those blasted weights. But as he looked down at his feet to see what was holding him back, he saw nothing but his own limbs and bemusement took hold of his mind. He tried to lift his feet from the ground, watching to see if he could figure out the problem. But there was nothing. Nothing holding him down. It was as if his feet had been welded to the ground– try as he might he could not get them to budge. It was like in some dream– some nightmare. The sort of nightmares where Elizabeth needed him, however, try as he might, he couldn't go to her. But this wasn't a nightmare. It was real....

Panic began to take a grip over him. What was happening? Why couldn't he move?! He could only recall such awful things in his nightmares: being trapped in a boat at sea, unable to move when it suddenly started sinking after a fierce explosion. But wait! That couldn't be happening, could it? Those dreams were just irrational.

An abrupt_ bang_ made him startle and he looked up to see the door swinging back and forth, banging loudly every time it met the doorframe. He stared at it suspiciously for a moment, willing his innards to calm themselves, when Will suddenly became aware of the breeze that was blowing his hair about. It was blowing gently, just a little bit more than stillness, but it was enough to tug lightly at his thick locks that had fallen astray. It was cool and refreshing, oddly enough, helping Will to begin to breath easier. He was okay. The ship was fine and he was fine....But the breeze was blowing... upward?

_Bang_, _bang_,_ bang_.

Confused, he looked down and, sure enough, the breeze kissed his face as if it were blowing up from through the floor. But how could that be? Wind could not travel through wood, he most definitely knew that.

_Bang_, _bang_. _Bang_.

'_Turner_...'

A violent shiver ran up his spine and Will went stiff as a board, as a whisper, cold, high, raspy and very unearthly, met his unwary ears. His eyes bolted to the door to see who would dare play such an unfunny joke at this time? But no one was there. Just the empty door and the steady _bang, bang, bang_ for proof.

'_Stop it, Will_,' he told himself. '_Don't be an idiot. It's probably all just your imagination–you _have_ been up too long, after all_.'

Yes, he had been up quite a long time. Perhaps his mind was playing very elaborate and strange tricks on him. It probably was best if he just went to bed.

'_Turner_...'

Another intense tremble of ice climbed his back, like freezing lightning. The voice was behind him this time....Or was it overhead? Wait–he couldn't place it. Surely the thing had a body.... Didn't it?

...Yes. It did. It probably was just Stripes trying to get some sort of vengeance on Will for making him come to trouble.

_Bang_, _bang_, _bang_.

Then why did Will begin to feel fear unlike anything he had felt before? Growing up as a lad in Port Royal, he had been terrified of water, never setting foot onto ship or into sea until that day when Elizabeth had been taken away. Elizabeth had once gotten some of the town boys to shove him off the docks when they were fourteen, trying to teach him that the ocean was nothing to be afraid of. But he had covered his terror and claimed that he just didn't like getting wet unless it was to take a bath. It had convinced everyone, as he had appeared cool and confident– but angry– enough as he climbed back onto the dock. But what they didn't know was that he had been terrified. So scared that he still blushed with shame when he thought about it, trembling internally like a leaf in a hurricane! But that fear, that was nothing compared to what he felt now.

Then, he had a reason to fear. He was traumatized by an experience of having his sturdy, safe ship blown to bits beneath his feet. Changing into a useless wreck and leaving him to be food for whatever hungry shark came his way in a flash of fire and smoke. It held things that he didn't want to ever encounter. It hid monsters. But now... why he was afraid, he did not know. Yes, some peculiar things were happening and the voice was a bit chilling, but he shouldn't have been so frightened. He should have been stubborn. Possibly _stupidly_ stubborn, as Jack would put it. But he wasn't. What was wrong with him?

'_Turner_...'

A sudden rushing of warmth from under his skin flooded his head, making an abrupt dizziness overtake him as sweat broke upon his brow. His eyes were still fixed on the door, but his vision began to fade, fuzzing over into a blurry mesh of color and then fading into darkness around the edges, spinning from his view. He felt himself wobble but still managed to stand– his consciousness on the verge of slipping away. His skin began to prickle numbly, starting at his head and then working it way down his spine and to the tips of his fingers and toes.

'_Bang, bang, bang_.'

'_Approach me_...'

He abruptly became vaguely aware of his legs _moving_. But he hadn't wanted them to move. They were taking him to where they pleased, and he was only by a hair's breadth able to make out where he was going as he felt his whole body begin to prickle numbly, especially at his chin and at the very top of his head– he was heading for the chest.

Suddenly, from somewhere in his mind, comprehension took a hold of him. There was no other person in the room. The voice didn't belong to some bodiless specter and it didn't belong to some lethargic prankster. It was the chest. The gold was calling him! But how he managed to keep a grip on such thoughts cannot be discovered nor explained, as he could feel the dominant amount of his consciousness having been desensitized by some unknown force....By the chest.

'_Bang, bang, bang_.'

His vision faded in and out repeatedly, darkening and lightening as well. He was moving but not sure what he was doing nor why he was doing it. He standing before the chest. And he felt a sudden rush of ice over his sweaty back as the breeze in the room gave a sudden shudder of energy, causing the candle to flicker and the room to seemingly sigh. Then he heard other voices. Voices he recognized from somewhere, but he couldn't recall exactly. His mind was so fuzzy....

'_Turner_...'

'_Mother?_'

He was reaching for something. Something inside the chest. Something shiny. What was it again? He knew that he knew what was, once, but he couldn't remember! It was something of importance, that much he knew, but he couldn't recollect _what_ it was.

'_Give me the gold, kid._'

The light that shone from inside the chest. It was gold. What was gold that was in the chest? He had to remember. Gold.... Gold.... Gold?... Gold! The coins! He was reaching to take a piece out of chest! For a brief moment, triumph pierced through the clouds of his despaired mind and he felt proud for his remembrance...but then he remembered something else. The gold was cursed. He couldn't take a piece then _he_'d be cursed and something bad would happen. He wasn't sure what it was that would happen, but he knew, somehow he knew that it was bad.

'_Bang, bang, bang_.'

'_You listen to me, William. I don't care what happens or who tells you otherwise...never give this coin to anyone. Your father gave it to you and I expect you to treasure it. _Don't lose it_. Do you understand me?_'

'_Yes, Mother_.'

He had to stop reaching for the coins. His mind had decided to stop reaching for the gold....Then why weren't his arm and hand listening to him? Why were they still reaching? He wanted them to stop. He mentally _willed_ them to stop.

'_You give me that gold boy, or I'll kill you just like my friend killed your mother_!'

But they refused to listen to him. His hand kept inching closer. '_No_!'

'_Hey_!_ Come back here, you little brat_! _You give me that coin_!_ Give it to me_!'

His fingers were still reaching forth towards the golden blurry mass before him. '_No....Stop. Please stop_.'

'_Turner_...'

He began to strain with all his inner will power. He had to stop. He had to. Something of great importance depended on it, he just knew it somehow.

'_Dear Will I hope you and your mother are well. I may not be coming home as soon as I had originally hoped, so take this gift from me until I see you again. If you're curious as to where I am, I'm in the Carribean. Port Royale, to be exact. I'll try to make it home to you and your mother soon. Take care, Son. With love, Papa._'

The dizziness was coming back, stronger and more potent than before.

'_Pirates_!'

'_We best be on our guard._ _Let's see if we can outrun them_.'

'_Captain_! _It's the_ Black Pearl!'

He couldn't see clearly anymore and found himself swaying a bit with the prickly numbness that had taken over his body and head.

'..._I'll kill you just like I killed your mother..._'

'_Please stop_....' He fell to one knee, his hand still reaching for the chest in an outstretched position as he vision began to fade to blackness. '_Please_...'

"Turner!"

Another voice, stronger and more human. But he wasn't to know its speaker, for darkness took him before he had even managed to connect with the floor as his body collapse from the strain. The battle was over.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** ARGH! TYPOS! I go back to my older chapters to refresh my memory and, no matter how much time I spent to find them all, I _still _find more!!!(Sigh.) 

Yes, school's finally started. (I'm actually doing this over lunch!) But, you know what? I'm not letting that stop me! Yeah, I hope you liked this chapter... mostly. Just you know, I'm not weakening Will- you'll get an explanation for the weird stuff that went on here with Will and on the _Black Pearl_ in the next chapter.

Tell me what you think of Pintel and Ragetti. Did I hit or miss? Did I overdo them? What about Barbossa? I need to know, 'cause I'll continue making mistakes throughout the story if I'm not made aware of them, 'kay?

**Trinity Day**: Thanks for the reviews! They surprised me a bit, I wasn't expecting any for a while. But they were encouraging!!!

**Ila**: Glad you like Jack. That gives me release. Sorry he's not in this chapter.

**betty sue pirate**- The Black Pearl Sails, huh? Guess what? Thanks to you, I went and joined that group. And I will say I enjoy it. A lot. Thanks for the reviews to. I love your confidence in my writing.

**Crazy Pigwidgeon**- Ah! Madame la Guillotuine! Spare me! ... Don't worry, the William Turner spins will clear up- they are intended for confusion for now. I want things to be more mysterious, secretive and then clear up along the way so suddenly a light clicks and you go "oh!"

**williz**-Yeah, well Jack deserved it. Just kidding. Glad I tricked you with the Bootstrap and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

**OpraNoodlemantra**- Oh! Glad to have you back again! I hope the plot isn't becoming _un_intriguing.... Keep reviewing!

And a **_BIG_** shout-out to lovely ol' Erin for posting my fic on that Recommendations Page o' hers. Love ya, Cap'n! And for those of you who would like to have some _quality_ PotC reads. You should check out said page for yourselves, if you haven't. Check out my bio.

Till next time, guys... I hope I'm not disappointing you. I've got the whole story finally figured out. This is going to be twisted and a bumpy ride. Hope you enjoy it on the way. La'ers!

Jack E.


	8. High Tide Hits

**Chapter 7  
**"_High Tide Hits_"

"No! Will!"

With a shriek, a violent jerk, a squeal of surprise and a heavy thud, Elizabeth's shoulder connected with the ground, as her hips and legs hugged tightly by the twisted clutches of her bed sheets refusing to completely release her. The burst of a delighted cackle of amusement followed and with a toss of her honey-blond head and a blow at the wisp of hair snagging her face, she attempted to take a glance at her laugher.

She scowled through the dark of her cabin, attempting to pierce the shadow that was her cabin mate with her glare as she began her attempt to wriggle out of the stubborn blankets. And although she wouldn't admit it– not to her cabin mate, leastways– Elizabeth's cheeks burnt bright with the frustrating sensation of embarrassment. In all respects, she felt she must've been quite the show. What, with an outburst like that, she could already hear the merciless chides she was sure could come very, very soon.

Anamaria continued to snigger to herself as she lighted the only lamp in the cabin and held it out for Elizabeth to better perceive her snare. It was clear she was trying her best to cease her giggles of entertainment, but in this case her best was not enough and it wasn't helping Elizabeth. The rich, proper, attractive and no less intelligent young woman was having much difficulty untangling herself from her trammel, cursing silently to herself with violent but futile yanks at the bed sheets and frustration written clearly on her face.

Anamaria forced herself to diminish her laughter in volume. But a single titter would escape her hard-pressed lips every so often as she knelt beside Elizabeth and began assisting her with her escape.

They toyed with the sheets in silence for a long while, fumbling with the folds without a word or a glance at each other, Elizabeth's cheek still aflame with color. Then a snort of laughter broke through Anamaria's barricade of seriousness and, with a futile apology, she began to laugh again. Elizabeth rolled her eyes with frustration as the pirate lass' laugh picked up in heartiness and she began to rock back and forth, gripping the girl's shoulder as if in an attempt to stop herself from the action. But her cackle continued.

"I-I'm sorry!" She croaked as Elizabeth sat back in bed with an indignant _tuh_. In fact, the 'croak' barely managed to be a 'croak,' as Anamaria's laughter had grown to become so hefty that she found it difficult to breathe.

"It was just that –" she broke off with another wave of laughter, now gripping her sides and falling to the floor. Elizabeth was beginning to wonder whether or not Ana was in pain, as the young black woman's face was beginning to redden, her gasps of air more definite and large and tears were beginning to prick at the tips of her pretty eyes. But the laughter was so genuine and the amusement so thick and tangible that Elizabeth couldn't help but have a giggle come to her lips as well, conquering her humiliation. Ana's _tee hee_'s were, evidently, contagious.

"You-you were mumbling in your sleep," Ana gasped between busting guffaws. "And I was watching to-to see what you would do."

Elizabeth felt a grin widen and her tiny giggles to begin to pick up into snickers of amusement.

"And you were rollin' and-and mumblin' and then you just suddenly screamed and at first it was kinda frightenin' but then you just- you just _threw_ yourself off of the berth! And now I can't stop laughing!"

By now Elizabeth, too, was tittering at the same magnitude of Ana, who had tears sparkling in her eyes and was clutching her sides, which– along with a hoarse throat– was aching from the work that the cackles were giving them. The sight alone was enough to get Elizabeth to roar in a most unladylike manner– the sight that Ana was presenting simply unbefitting to who Elizabeth thought she was. Such a fierce and normally feral (concerning Jack and enemy pirates) girl who was characterized more clearly in Elizabeth's memory with scowls and glares, to have her face split wide with such mirth and recreation was funny, if not strange.

"I-I guess it is p-pretty funny!"

And so they laughed, and for a long duration of time, too. But laughter is like a squall in the sea. It picks up intensity until it's blowing all other things of importance out of the path of one's psyche; tearing sadness and worries temporarily away from the mind's harbor and winding the lungs in a ticklish manner. Then, alas, eventually that storm must lose its power and strength. And as it dies as gradually as the earth curves, the ships called _Distress, Despondency_ and _Dread_, must come and take their places in the harbor– sometimes bumping_ Hope_, _Happiness_ or _Love_ from the dock.

Elizabeth's giggles faded along with her smile, as she wrapped herself in her blankets once again as a little child would on a winter's eve or during summer's thunder storm.

Anamaria let her grin disperse as well.

"What's wrong?"

Elizabeth's eyebrows shot high with surprise as she glanced quickly at Ana, fussily rearranging her sheets as she did so. "It's… it's nothing."

She pressed a smile upon her face. A smile she had used many times before. It was the smile she used to lie to people about herself– a smile used when she put others before herself or found herself hearkening and yet sacrificing the yearnings of her heart. She had used it before on the Commodore. Telling him that she would gladly marry him, regardless of the circumstances surrounding their engagement. She had told him that it didn't matter if he refused to save Will Turner from death, that she would marry him, happily all the same. And in some respects it was a true thought and in others it was a lie.

Elizabeth Swann had never imagined that she would marry any man other than James Norrington. It wasn't really a bad thing– she didn't mind much. He was, in honest to goodness truth, a very fine man. Her father had been excited about such an engagement ever since the second his daughter had made her debut, and no other option had ever crossed her mind as neither probable nor possible. In her mind she knew that she would, under any and all circumstances, become the wife to James Norrington or no man at all.

But at night, after her maid tucked her into bed, it was not the popular military figure's face that swam about her thoughts. When bored over lessons of proper etiquette and fashion it was not the popular military figure's name that she secretly thought of. The popular military figure's smile did not make her face hot. His eyes did not make her knees weak. His voice did not take her breath away. And his words did not make her heart decidedly pound, flutter, jump to her throat or drop to her toes. The popular military man could affect many women in this manner, young and old alike…but not Elizabeth. For her, there was someone else. Someone who all of society still thought a boy. A poor, inexperienced, dirty, orphaned boy. He wasn't worth the time of a girl like her…to everyone else.

But Elizabeth Swann did not see what the world of her time saw in people. One man could have mountains of gold; acres of green land; hundreds of pearl, marble and diamond mansions; dozens of the world's finest thoroughbred horses; endless yards of silks and satins; spices; rubies; emeralds; exotic foods; he could have the world to offer. Then on the other had, another man could only have a scant shillings per week to the mountains of gold, he could have a muddy corner in a filthy city's alley to the mansion, he could have shredded rags and bloodied shoeless feet, he could have nothing; and Elizabeth could pronounce the two men '_equal_' or the poorer man the better. To Elizabeth, it was not the clothes on the man that determined who he was. It was not the quality of his property or how much he had, if he had any at all. It was the man himself. If the whole world were taken in the palm of one person's hand and the equalized, so that every man had a perfectly equal share in absolutely everything as his neighbor, then what kind of man would he be? For that was who Elizabeth could see.

She didn't care that often there were smudges of dirt on his face. She didn't care that his hair was often tussled or obviously hastily done. She did not care that his clothes were old, worn, crude and inexpensive. She did not care that he was a person of lower breeding, that he was an orphan, that his hands were rough from daily labor and his skin tanned from heat and sunlight, that he hardly made in a year a _percentage_ of what her father made in a month. She didn't care. Those things didn't matter, because she saw past that.

Will Turner was just as much a person as the King of England was. He laughed and smiled, he winced and groaned. He saw, he smelt, he heard, he tasted, he felt.… She knew that and was unashamed of her love. But it was a love that was difficult. '_Vulgar,_' others called it, that a girl of such high class should even glance at such a dirty street rat. But she did. And she fell in love. To the point that she would give herself to the man she was sure she was destined to marry to save his life, when once she was something more than hesitant.

'_It was not a condition, it was_ a request,' she had said. '_You're answer would not change mine…_." And then she had smiled. That one smile meant for nothing but a guise. The same smile she had used now.

But, what Elizabeth had unfortunately overlooked, was that Anamaria knew better than that. She, as you probably can recall, had to live with Jack Sparrow every single day of her life for the past year at least and he was a much more crafty and careful liar than Elizabeth could even begin to be. That smile did not fool her.

She looked at Elizabeth with one very analytical regard before crossing over the room with two long strides and seating herself beside the girl on her bed. "Don' give me that piece o' flotsam an' jetsam. I know there's something wrong jus' by lookin' atchya."

Elizabeth tried her very best not to look surprised, raising a coy eyebrow instead. But it wasn't good enough.

Anamaria shook her head with a subtle roll of her dark eyes. "You know, if you plan on tryin' to fool somebody who's had to deal with Jack Sparrow for the last fourteen months of her life, then you're goin' to have to come up with somethin' a lot more convincin' than that.… Now what's wrong? What was it you dreamed?"

The young woman scowled back at Ana and held her gaze for only a moment before letting her eyes drop to the blanket, the bright pink shade in her cheeks returning to burn luminously once again. She frowned inwardly at herself at her childish behavior. Anamaria was only trying to offer kindness, why did she have to be so stubborn? She bit her lip.

'_It really is unnecessary_.' She decided it was time to suck up her pride.

"Well, to be honest…I don't really know what I dreamed."

The black woman gave her a skeptical look, clearly thinking there was some flaw to that. "What?"

"_I don't know_," Elizabeth repeated and she gave a sigh before blushing and rolling her eyes habitually. "It was a peculiar sort of dream. Everything happened and changed so fast and capriciously that I can't quite remember exactly _what_ it was that I dreamed. Just random flashes of images before my eyes, really."

"Well, that doesn't explain that stray outburst over your young gentleman." Anamaria gave her a scolding look, frowning a bit detachedly as she crossed slender arms across her chest. She sighed, shaking her head before letting a subtle, suppressed smirk creep into her countenance. "Of course, with a lad like that, I suppose such a reaction is reasonable."

Elizabeth snorted before taking off into a whispery giggle, taking Anamaria by surprise with her lack of decorum. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

Ana shrugged as she leaned herself against the bulkhead, beginning to relax a bit with Elizabeth's change of mood. "Jus' that he's a good lad. I wouldn't ever have to worry 'bout him, if I was you. That boy can take care of himself well enough for one thing– has got a lot of bite in 'im, that one– and for another thing… he loves ya. A lot. Enough that, like I said, I wouldn't ever have to worry 'bout him, if I was you. 'Cause I'd know he'd be thinkin' of me always.… Now, I don't know 'bout you, lass, but if I was you, I'd also say he's a keeper. S'a rare thing to find a boy like that one. I can tell you that."

Elizabeth's blush deepened, but her face softened considerably from its stiff appearance. She opened her mouth to speak as her delicate eyebrows furrowed in perplexity. "W– … well, there are plenty of gentlemen that I can think of that–"

"Uh-uh." Ana shook her head with a frown. "Don't even go there, lass. I'd guess a good pair or two of those men only give you that impression because they're good at hidin' what they really are like from the rest of the world. But let's not go there. The point is that your lad is a genuine diamond amongst the dross, an' you shouldn' take that for granted."

Elizabeth was silent. Suddenly she appeared thoughtful, as if considering the words that Anamaria had placed before her with careful and slow precision before she looked back at Ana with a subtle smile gracing her pretty lips. "You're right," she said simply. "He's lot less worse than Jack, anyway."

Anamaria grinned widely. "You have no idea."

Elizabeth giggled. And they probably would have continued to talk (as women tend to let their mouths run away more often they choose to believe), had it not been for the commotion just outside their cabin door.

_Ba-dum, dum, dum, dum, dum._

"Get outta my way, Cotton!"

"_Awk_! Walk the plank!"

"Ow! Move yer elbow!"

"Shaddup!"

There was sudden babel of stampeding men's feet and clamourous voices as they seemed bustle up above decks, where something obviously was amiss. The girls were silent as what sounded like a brief, childish scuffle took place at the stairwell before the last few scuffling men finally cleared out and made it on their way to their destination. The two young woman, eyebrows cocked and lips pressed into thin lines as if to suppress girly giggles, glanced at each other before simultaneously and without words agreed to go and check it out for themselves, jumping out of bed and for the door.

* * *

Elizabeth was surprised to find a weighty breeze catch hold of large tendrils of her hair, toying with it as if there were little invisible fairies in the air, repeatedly picking up and dropping her honey curls in the weather's prance. As Anamaria stepped out from the doorway, a similar surprise, though not quite as bold, took hold of her as she caught sight of the sea about the _Pearl_. Things had certainly changed and very, very quickly. 

The air had become preeminently heavy, speaking clearly of what lied ahead. The sea had transformed from a crystalline blue to saucy grey, with the waves no longer desiring to be smooth and amiable but choppy and snappish.

The crew had come above and stood, all staring aft off the ship's rail and waiting for Jack's command to be given. The ship itself was beginning to rise and fall a bit more dramatically with swelling of the waves– how Elizabeth hadn't noticed it before was beyond her. The girls quickly and silently wound round about from their position and made their way to the poop deck, Elizabeth taking a sharp gasp as she reached the top of the stairs. As she had expected it to be, Jack was there with his ever-prominent presence . Compass in one hand and a ready spyglass in the other, Jack was ready to pounce into any action necessary for the pending event. But that was not what surprised Elizabeth. It was the event itself.

She knew a storm was coming. It was evident the moment she stepped on deck. But what had so successfully taken her breath away was the sight that lie before her. Not far behind the _Black Pearl_, so close that it had Elizabeth gobsmacked, really. And she had experienced many a storm during her dwelling in Port Royal. But it wasn't the storm itself that surprised her as much as its magnitude.

The clouds were so dark that they struck a deep dread in heart. Appearing like a devil's work, being a literal charcoal black and approaching the ship like a torrential darkly cloaked phantom with a knife of the whitest of lightning jumping out as a severe contrast to it's obscurity. Around the edges of the storm's front, Elizabeth could see the evidence of rain, the storm looking as if the clouds were slowly falling apart at the edges, and a horrendously thick curtain of falling water lie in wait underneath the low legion. The delayed roar of thunder reached her ears and the wind picked up, causing her hair and the ropes of the rigging to whip about, the ship itself to shudder. Still an ample distance away, the storm reeked of strength and power, the _Pearl_ and her crew members beginning to feel it in their bones. Elizabeth turned and she cast her eyes on Jack and Gibbs, who had joined the captain at his ship's stern, hoping that this was something she was just ignorant about and that the storm really wasn't as awful as it appeared to be.

Passing his spyglass on to Gibbs and taking a good look at his compass, Jack grinned widely, gold, silver, and excited anticipation shining forth from the depth of his broad smile. "There she is, Gibbs. Ain' she a monster?"

"Aye," Gibbs replied, peering through the glass with a slight smirk on his weathered face. "That's a titan, if I ever did see one." He collapsed the spyglass and handed it back to Jack, taking a quick glance over his shoulder before whispering to Jack, smile no longer in sight, "I told you them lasses are bad luck, Jack."

Jack smirked as he shut his compass with a snap. He turned pierced Gibbs with an odd look in his eye. "Bad luck? Ha!" he barked with a seeming defiant tone as he marched straight for the helm. He took a firm grip on it and gave a wiggle of the fingers as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, cocking his head to an angle as he studied the ship's rigging with a squint to his dark eyes. Then he grinned. And suddenly Elizabeth felt startled and nervous as she caught a glimpse of the look that gleamed in Jack's dark, kohl-rimmed eyes. It was a look that was more than courageous, more than wild– it was positively mad(…er than usual).

Now, there was absolutely nothing wrong with Jack. He was just being himself and if you talked to any of members of the crew they'd probably tell you exactly that. But, if you know her story well enough, you will know that Elizabeth had never been at sea with Jack Sparrow before. She didn't realize that he changed when a time like that came. Jack lived for his ship and the sea– putting the _Pearl_ up to an adventurous challenge, even when the sea turned murderous. It was exciting. Thrilling. Magnificent. And whenever a storm rolled around and other men were ducking for cover, Jack would be at his ship's helm, waltzing on cloud nine.

"I'll show you '_bad luck_' Joshamee! All hands on deck, you barbaric cads!" his familiar call rang out, springing his men (and woman) into a sudden action that distinctly reminded Elizabeth of a beehive. In fact, his barks were so sharp and swift and his orders so quickly followed that Elizabeth, despite her hefty knowledge and savvy about seafaring and the workings of pirate ships, lost herself in the whirlwind of words and the tidal wave of action. By the time she had been able to get a hold of the words comin' out of Jack's mouth, it was the last command: to bring the ship about. "We're goin' in!"

Her heart jumped into her throat and she quickly looked back at the goliath tempest that sought after the _Black Pearl_ like a wild cat of the jungle stalking a rodent. The thought seemed mad. But if the crew was at all surprised or opposed the captain's decision at all, it was not evident in the faces, speech or actions of anyone … except Mr. Gibbs, who had no hesitation in stating his opinion on the matter.

"What, are you daft, Cap'n?!" he bellowed, his usually tan face fallen white with shock. "The wind will tear the sails off the masts before we even reach the 'er! That storm ain't natural! Wha's in yer 'ead, Cap'n?!"

Jack merely spun around with a jingle of beads and coins and hair, one hand clasped firmly on the helm, the othergoing to fumble about his waist before dangling his compassloosely at chest height and a genial grin spread wide as he rocked lightly back and forth, as if off-balance: "Thar she blows," he slurred with a rough feigned dialect and he pointed one lone finger towards the heart of the storm.

"An' what be that, Cap'n? We can' see nothin' in that storm." Gibbs demanded a bit hotly, crossing his stocky arms over his chest.

"I can."

"How?"

Jack gave his compass a slight jerk to give Gibbs its attention before turning back to the wheel. "Keep yer eyes open, Gibbs- the _Abyss_ is as dark as the _Pearl_ and we're gonna need as many as we can to spot 'er."

The conversation actually continued, Gibbs batting excuses and Jack finded ways around all of them. But none of it reached Elizabeth's ears- for itwas then thatshe suddenly understood the meaning of their turning around and her heart began to beat miles a minute with excitements of many different kinds.

'_Will_…'

* * *

Will was slightly confused, to say the least, and even a little nauseous. He thought he had closed his eyes a few seconds ago only to open them and find that he had closed them several _hours_ ago and slept through the night and most of the next day. The shining moonbeams leaking through the closed hatch near his hammock were now gone, substituted with the familiar silvery beams of the sun just before it disappears entirely behind the horizon. He let a low smile creep into his countenance. Never sure why, but no matter how many times such a forgotten sleep would take him, Will always found it just as amusing as the first time. It was like blinking lethargically, with time speeding by at a phenomenal rate while his lids cloaked his curious pupils. 

A bell tolled from on deck. The shuffling and creaking of many feet was heard. Voices calling to and fro every so often. The roar of a ship cutting through the vast see before it, and Will suddenly seem to notice the sudden violent lurch of the ship under the strain of the wind. Yes, another day had definitely arrived, and Will remembered, with a discomforting stir of his belly, that he was hungry. He had not eaten in several hours. His grin faded as he swung his legs over the edge of the hammock, bringing himself to a sitting position.

He had not forgotten his situation, but he had forgotten the frustration that had come with it. He was stuck and could do nothing of it. Stuck in a crack that he most indefinitely did not desire to be in. And somewhere, something inside of him could not be caught in a crack. He had to escape.

His stomach rumbled impatiently now.

He rolled his eyes with a bit of annoyance. Why did his belly have to be so… so _loud_? Well, there was no use fighting, Will decided– might as well silence it in the usual manner. He swung off of his hammock and stretched his arms out… only to be violently tossed aside by a mammoth and completely unforeseen pitch of the ship.

Stopping his fall by catching a hammock with a frantic grasp, he managed not to bump his head as he was brought to his knees, however he _did_ manage to get a minuscule but nasty whiplash instead. Rubbing the back of his neck he cursed silently and scowled at the deck above as if accusing the people atop it for his surprise attack…which he was.

The shipped heaved itself in the other direction, leaving Will to find himself gripping the hammock as well as he could so as not to slide and collide with the opposite bulkhead before the ship re-leveled off. And, eventually, she did, to the young blacksmith's relief, but his anger didn't fade away quite so quickly. What the devil was going on up there?!

Determined to find out and eager to actually feel the breeze on his cheeks, as the dim stuffiness of the dank barracks was beginning to get to him, Will stood and, gripping onto a plank of wood that made up the bulkhead, he began to walk towards the hatch. But this was only to result in being catapulted towards his destination by a sudden wild jump of the ship.

This time he did bang his head, cuffing it quite harshly with the edge of the steep staircase. And it did not help his already warm temper.

'_Can I not simply_ stand_ without receiving a bruise?! By the time I get off this wretched batch of kindling I'm going to be beaten to a pulp_.…' He closed his eyes, taking a good grip of the stair rail beforehand, and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly as a teapot releasing built up steam.

'_It's okay_,' he told himself, soothingly as he reopened his eyes. '_You just need to relax. You've been strung tighter than a fiddler's string, Will. You just need to think: what would Jack do…mate?_'

The thought wasn't that hard to answer. In fact, he smirked to himself as he thought about it. Jack would waltz above decks, his usual land swagger transformed into sturdy, graceful sea legs as he made his bold way across the deck to confront the captain with some strange plan having already been conjured in mind. Then he'd take them for a dance of words.…

He could almost entirely visualize and hear him right at that moment, waltzing up to him and plopping down heavily beside Will, with a sigh. '_Well, whelp,_' he'd say, '_Who's gonna tell you otherwise if you give it a shot_?' Will could easily see a cocky grin with hints of gold and a twinkle in his merry eye– a silent picture of laughter.

'_You know very well that is impossible_,' Will found himself shooting back, surprisingly unaffected by his Imaginary Jack's optimism.

'Improbable, _Will_,' the not-present Jack Sparrow corrected, slapping his young friend on the back, heartily. '_Nothin's impossible_.'

But the thought was not encouraging to Will. He found it hard to believe. It was an easy thing to say, especially for the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow, but to Will and most unlike Jack, there actually were times when things were very much impossible to accomplish. '_Maybe for you_,' he stated in thought, bitterly, '_but it's not like that for me, Jack_.'

Jack's eyebrows shot-up, a look of genuine surprise upon his façade. '_An' why not_?!' he demanded in a high and expectant tone.

Will was silent, who, in his mind's eye, had a stubborn look of determined silence and shielded thoughts cloaking over his deep eyes as he rested his forearms on his knees and turned his head away from Jack, angrily.

But Jack, ever to the point, only allowed the silence to remain for no more than a second, continuing with a gusto, confidence, drawl and set of gestures that was all his own. '_Oh, I know what t'is. S'because I swagger when I walk, innit_?'

Again Will didn't respond, allowing his eyebrows to slip lower as Jack began poking at the thin patience he had for him.

'_S'because I drawl a bit when I talk an' because I have teeth made of gold; knots, beads and dread locks in me hair; and kohl linin' me eyes.… An' if not tha' …s'because I'm dashingly handsome and remarkably brilliant, innit?_'

'_No, that's not it_,' Will replied indignantly, turning and piercing Jack with eyes that were alight with a small but passionate candle of flickering frustration, impatience and anger. '_It's something else, Jack, and you know it very well_._ A very important aspect and you're forgetting it, when it's a main part of who you are_.'

But Jack only grinned a wide, toothy and presumptuous grin one time more, as if he _did_, in fact, know what it was, but just wanted to hear it out of the mouth of another. And yet, at the same time, the all-knowing aspect wasn't quite so cheeky as it was sarcastically wise. As if he was attempting at teaching his little pupil a lesson in a clever manner and was on brink of succeeding.

'_And what would that be, me lad_?' he asked quietly and yet with some impertinence with the gentility of his tone.

Will looked at him, his fiery candles of fervor quickly doused and replaced by a watery shiver of earnest; eyebrows furrowed and eager, and face set in a kind of a near-grimace of subtle wanting– quiet envy.

'_You're Jack Sparrow_,' he spoke softly, his almost-pained voice just enough above a whisper to still have the low tenor tone of his voice evident, bringing Jack to a silent state of listening. '_You're Captain Jack Sparrow, and you can do anything just because of that_. _You want something, then you get it– even if it takes ten years of searching and runnin' full on into the arms Commodore Norrington_. _Simple as that_.'

'_Well, that may be, mate_,' Jack replied slinging a lazy but comforting arm around his young companion's broad shoulders, '_But, with all due respects, might I say tha' s'the little things beneath me skin that makes up the great Captain you know to be me. I mean, yeah, when people think of me they think of braids, beads, beards and booze; but that ain't who I am, really, is it?_'

But Will only sat pensive and passive, listening to Jack with a quiet and submitting humility that had tranquilly put away his pride.

'_In fact_,_ for all of its usefulness_, _my appearance has its downsides. It stands out so much tha', oftentimes, people only remember the Jack Sparrow they see, usually turning a blind eye to the Jack Sparrow that's inside because it isn't as epic and extravagant as the one without. They don't really remember me. Just what I looked like and what I did. But that ain't so with you. With you, Will, to be honest, there isn't nothin' enormously outstandin' about you on the outside nor what you do for a livin'. You wear your dress and style yourself after the manner of the rest of society. You carry yourself in a manner that is viewed as '_normal_' and '_proper_.' You speak with an elegance that almost doesn't suit you an' your class, but not quite. You make money by smithing swords, nails and horseshoes just like a handful of other respectable people across the globe.… In fact, the only thing that has ever looked at all outwardly striking, may have been that hat and cape you decided to don on the day you helped save me from the noose. Quite debonair in my opinion, really.…_'

Will scoffed. And Jack simply continued.

'_But if I were to tell you anythin' about tha' day and the adventure tha' came before it, lad, it'd be this: whether you like it or not, tales of the young blacksmith William Turner are goin' to keep on bein' told for many years to come. Eventually they _may_ die. Probably will, in fact. You'd be surprised how many legends do. But for as long as he_ is_ remembered, Will Turner won't be remembered for the fancy attire he wore that day, or for the way he looked any day, for that matter. Will Turner will be remembered for who his choices, his actions and his character determined him to be. An' whether you're willin' to admit it or not, those are the things that are important when it comes to success._'

Sitting acquiescently beside him, Jack couldn't help but grin at Will and give his shoulder a small, reassuring squeeze. He looked a pretty picture of his da', he did, his quiet but strong determination beginning to return as the clock work in his mind began to turn.

'_Yeh've already got it all, yeh know,_' Jack whispered in his ear, encouragingly._ 'I've seen it in yeh. Ambition, confidence, courage, strength and– regardless of what I've said in the past– brains. _I_ expect yeh to put those qualities to work. Surprise me._ Impress _me. _Look at me, _mate_.'

And he did, pulling himself out of his thoughts for the moment.

'_Once upon a time we was talkin' 'bout your father, you an' I. An' after putting a jib boom to yer ribs and haulin' yeh out over the open water, I said somethin' to yeh. I said that yeh've got pirate in yer blood, Will, an' tha' you'd hafta square with tha' some day. That day came and went, dawning and setting the way the sun does as she sails her own sea. And night fell on that part of your life.… For a while. Well, I said it once an' I'll say it again: yeh've got pirate in yer blood, Will. An' guess what? Your sun has risen again, as suns tend to do, and she's burning bigger and brighter than ever before. The time for you to square with it is back an' s'here an' now. But here yeh sit an' you say that you haven't got the makin's of a real pirate._' He shook his head, disapprovingly with an appropriate frown.'_Son_, _you've had it!… In here…_' and he took a tanned, grimy, ring-adorned hand and brushed Will's temple with the tips of coarse fingers,'_an' here,_' and then he placed a firm single fingerupon the plane of his left breast, his eyes radiating with an intense seriousness was uncharacteristic to the outside Jack. He spoke again, softly and sincerely. '_You jus' got realize it an' then take those traits, recognize 'em, use 'em.… make the man who gave 'em to you proud_,' Will's attention became fully caught, and his eyes, which had wandered in Jack's sincerity, returned to Jack's with a surprised look. The sobriety fizzled as the pirate's old twinkle returned to his gaze and he cocked a crooked grin, flashing familiar gold and silver.'_…an' make the lass that fell in love with 'em proud. Savvy?_'

And then Will couldn't help but let a small grin slowly shadow into his face, confidence and determination returning to his mind and heart.'_Yeah_,' he determined. 'Savvy.'

Jack tipped his hat and disappeared with twinkling grin, and Will blinked with slight surprise.

'_I think I'm going mad_.…' His stomach grumbled and he growled with annoyance. '_Oh yes, that's it. I'm so hungry I'm delusional_!'

The ship took a big dip suddenly, making Will's stomach jump up in a very uncomfortable manner. And he frowned as he began to get nauseated again. Maybe it wasn't the crew sailing the ship poorly…maybe it they were having rough weather?

A sudden kiss of ice made rush of ice run up his back as a drop of water made its way down his spine. He slapped the spot where the water had hit his neck with his hand and turned around in his seat, looking for the source of the water. Although dimly lit, Will could see the hatch quite clearly and found, to his amusement, that large drops of water were clumping about the corners of the door and leaking through its crack.

He smirked as he carefully brought himself to his feet and steadily made his way up the old, wooden stairs. He was awake…might as well make himself useful.

When he pushed the hatch open an enormous blast of icy air slapped his face, causing him to immediately feel need to shiver and want to pull back below. The raindrops were so large and wickedly fast that his hands and face felt as if they were being pelted with thousands of tiny needles repeatedly until his skin actually began to numb– after only seconds of withstanding it. He opened his previously tightly-shut eyes and cast them about the ship's deck.

It was dark now. The storm must have caught them in full when he had been sitting on the steps below. The sky was a deep, dark and rich blue and the sea a torrential and moving reflection in hue. But in nature, they were too different devils as odds. The sky flashed on the port side of the ship as a massive pillar of lightning met with the crashing waves of the sea with an almighty crack that caused Will to wince from its volume. Spitting rushes of almighty winds and firing its bolts of lightning, the sky was a great power.

Then there was the sea herself, tossing the pathetic excuse for a ship about in the massive embrace of her waves. Lifting and dropping, pitching left and right, throwing its weight onto the ships shabby deck and attempting rip the canvas off of its masts with angry fingers.

With shaky limbs, Will brought himself onto the deck, teetering as he suddenly realized exactly how great the rolling of the vessel was and ventured to gain his sea legs. The wind wailed and screeched shrilly and the lightning gave another almighty snap as a bolt tore through the air. The ship dipped and rose again and the rain cut into Will's frigid, desensitized skin.

And then he heard a shout.

"Look out!"

Just as he looked up a giant wave of water came rushing towards him, swiftly overpowering him in his state of surprise and sweeping him up against the ship's cabin door. When he recovered Will felt a sudden sense of urgency and duty running through him. The ship was falling apart as it was– with a storm like that one, nothing but bad could come out of it. He had to help.

As if in response to his prodding mood, someone, quick as the lightning in the sky in being a flash there and then gone, rushed past Will and disappeared up, up, up into the rigging with such swiftness and precession one would have thought him a born sailor (which he probably was).

And Will saw the rigging. He saw the ropes and the canvas and the spars and the masts, he saw the way they swayed and rocked dangerously, bringing the men that were clinging with their very lives above the un-mastered merciless depths of the Caribbean waters and then he saw one figure. Solo and on the topmast, a figure was busy, working feverishly to tie down the last wild wing of sail that remained.

_Flash_!

And Will's vision, for only an instant, was given the opportunity to sharpen and identify: it was Briggot. He watched with frozen fascination at the shadow of the little man, barely able to believe that his shaky limbs could manage to get him up there, let alone hold on. But hold on he did. Through all the dips, tips and turns he held on tight. Until…

_Flash! _

_ROOM!_

A bolt of lightning, sudden and terrifying, ripped through the sky with a horrendous blast and met with the sea just off the ship's port side– so close that Will could feel the temporary rise in temperature melt with its warmth upon his boreal, benumbed skin. And then he heard the cry of panic and looked up.

Another flash, this time distant and amongst the clouds, but enough for Will's mark to be seen. And he felt his insides suddenly rush with cold, as if a hole had opened up inside him and admitted the cold outside to flow in. There was Briggot, hands still clutching tightly to the incompletely tied sail for all his worth as the rest of his body hung dangerously over the sea and deck below, the ship rocking and jerking violent as if to shake him off alone.

For a moment, all Will could do was stare. Sit and stare at the sparse, poor old man, clinging the wet, cruel fabric for his very life as his legs flailed about in helpless desperation for safety. He couldn't do anything, Briggot. Pray maybe. But that was it. He had not strength enough left in his timeworn lanky limbs to pull himself up to safety. He was too tired, too _old_.

And apparently Charlie had spotted him.

"Briggot!" his shrill voice cried out above the din, his eyes wide with fear and his face twisted in worry and fretfulness.

Will felt pity for him. He turned a calculating eye back up towards the unfortunate figure flailing in the wind, blinking the rain, salt and sea spray out of his eyes as the wind batted the ship about. His dark brows pressed down significantly in a deeply pensive furrow as he thought. Would it be wise to get involved?…Did he dare?

_Flash!_

The lightning struck and the old man's face was made visible to Will, pale and white as a ghost and contorted in fear and pain. Then it hit. In the dark of the storm he set his jaw and his determination was evident all of those surrounding him as something long dormant awoke him, vibrant. Something that had only been lightly stroked to stir on the adventure the year before. And a determined fire sprung and shown within his eyes with such an intensity that it was easy to imagine visible flames licking at the pupils of his luminous orbs.

'…_yeh've got pirate in yer blood, Will. An' guess what? Your sun has risen again, as suns tend to do, and she's burnin' bigger and brighter than ever before. The time for you to square with it is back– an' s'here an' now.…_

Then and there. The beating in his very heart began to pulse to the time of the sailor's soul and before he knew it his feet were carrying him towards the rigging and up some mast; not quite sure where he was going and what he was going to do once he reached his destination, but not shrinking. Refusing to.

Hand over hand, foot over foot he climbed, the wind wild and fierce and rain and lightning blinding. His hands were cold and his fingers numb, the rope slippery and rebellious against him. It creaked and slid beneath his weight and feet. Blacksmiths hands he had, however; used to rough conditions and making unwilling objects bend to his will, finding compromises and solutions in places where there appeared to be none. Up one step and then another, his footing becoming more sure and definite as he went along.

Until, "Oof!"

A sudden slide from under his foot and his legs flew out from under him and the ribbon in his hair released itself and went flying into the wind, striking a sudden ice of panic into him. But his hands remained steadfast and true, and after a moment of shakiness, on he went, not quite sure where his courage or his determination was coming from.

There was this man, Briggot. A good man, in truth, but a man he hardly knew. And yet, there _he_, Will Turner, was: risking life and limb in the heart of horrendous Carribean squall for this man. He could be thrown into the sea and drowned. He could be struck by lightning. He could fall out of the rigging and severely injure himself on the deck. But he has surprised himself and he was not afraid.

He reached the spar belonging to the ship's topsail, finding the sail tightly secured on his side to keep from whipping and tearing in the wind. But the subtle flapping sound that reached his ears told him that the other side of the spar spoke otherwise. A spark of lightning again. In that flash of an instant, he spied the white glimmer of a sail's unfastened corner, and, just below it, hanging onto the slippery fabric for who knew how much longer: Daniel Briggot.

The ship rolled from one side to the other, surprising and causing Will to freeze and hug onto his part of the ship as a colder sweat broke out upon his already cold forehead, waiting until it moved back to its previous position. Slowly it rocked back to a more upright position. It wasn't until then, that he dared open his eyes and did something that Jack would have cursed him time and time again for being '_stupid_.' He glanced below.

_Flash!_

His heart jumped into his throat, and the cold sweat spread to chill his back and heart. He hadn't realized it was so high! The ground was barely visible through the rainy, rocking darkness and suddenly he felt very frightened and hesitant to move.

_SNAP!_

The sound broke through the ultimate roar of the storm, causing Will to jump in fright; but it reclaimed his attention and he paled as he came to realize what it was. The next reef in the line of reefing belonging to the canvas that Briggot clung to in desperation had strained and broke, and the stress of the sail was now exerting immensely as Briggot hung useless and dangerously in the wind.

It was then that Briggot looked out of the corner of his eye, pure and dismal trepidation shining through his contorted expression, pleading and making the unheard word that left his trembling lips very easy to understand and make out: "Help." A rush of pity and desire to fulfill his wish and suddenly, Will began to feel the fire return. That man was as frightened as he was– if not, more. His danger was greater and his fate looked bleak. While Will suddenly felt embarrassed and ashamed, for he was safe. He could have clung to that spar until the end of the storm, if he wanted to. But Briggot…he couldn't.

'_Now as long as you're just hanging there, pay attention. On a pirate ship, every man has an equal vote. Every man has an equal say in the rules he has to live by. Should, do, don't, shall, shall not- all mere suggestions. The only rules that really matter are these: what a man can do and what a man can't do.…' _

Briggot couldn't save himself. Not anymore. But Will was there and could save Briggot. So he would. Pursing his lips and setting his jaw, Will fortified his courage, swallowed his fear and with a sturdy, alternating grip of hands, feet, and knees, he began to shinny across the spar in an attempt to get to the other side. Like his climb up the rigging, slow and shaky in the beginning, but quickly growing faster and more steadfast as his faith in himself grew and his dark hair winged in the wind.

Eventually he reached Briggot, who, Will discovered with a flash of lightning, somehow had managed to make a shift in his grip so he was closer to the spar, giving Will a rush of bedrock determination. If Briggot could find enough faith and courage to try and make it, he could do it too. He _would_ do it too.

* * *

For a moment previously, Briggot had thought that he was helpless and without hope. But then he saw someone coming and he decided to at least try and make it. He had watched the figure the whole time as his arms strained and screamed with pain and agony and his fingers threatening to slip or give up. He didn't know whether or not they would ultimately fail him. He just did something he never did before, praying with all his might that he could have that chance at survival. 

The figure made his way up the rigging with a zeal that surprised and began to give hope to Briggot, stopping only once as his feet slipped and shot out from under him. But he quickly recovered and, without pause, went on, climbing up, up, up to meet him. Finally the figure made it to the top of the spar. Lighting flashed but Briggot could not see him properly.

The ship tilted, causing the old man to swing dangerously and his fingers to slide on the canvas, re-striking fear into his heart. The figure was hesitating and Briggot began to panic as loud snap and large jerk as his canvas dropped a foot or two told him the story of the old reefs' strength. He cried out in fear, eyes clenched shut as fire ruptured through his arms, shoulders and fingers, tears beginning prick at his eyes like acid.

He swallowed as he dared to open one eye and look at the man who had come. "Help," he managed croak, though he did not know why– there was no way in which he could have been heard.

A moment and then the man began to move again, crossing towards Briggot in a manner that spoke to him: '_Hold on. Hold on, I'm coming_.'

He was coming and maybe he, Briggot, would be able to make it. But how could he reach him down there, with the sail so low and out of reach? Realization struck and Briggot began to groan. He had to help him. Mustering up the little bit of strength and courage that he had, Briggot gave up holding back his tears and let them run, mingled with the bitter rain, as he began to, hand by hand, shift up the sail. It was grueling, hard and painful, his body under a stress that threatened to break him, but he did it, to his own disbelief. And now, he almost grinned as a small ray of hope took hold. He could be saved.

The man appeared a dark and yet refractorily strong shadow set against a black and devilish sky to Briggot, with his hair wild in the wind and eyes burning and gleaming distinctly resolute and dauntless. A stranger in the dark come to save him– a masked and cloaked angel.

A flash of lightning and Briggot felt shock as his masked rescuer became exposed. It was the lad.

* * *

"Briggot!" Will cried, his voice drowned out by the wind to sound as if miles of sea and land had been put between them. "Grab my hand!" 

Locking his legs around the spar in preparation of the pull up, Will bent down and reached out to grab Briggot's wrist, his hand covered in water and soggy fragments of wood, Briggot's white- knuckled and shaking.

_SNAP!_

Will jumped from the sound just beneath him, and looked down to see the reef slide away at the pulling weight of the sail as Briggot fell a foot or two further from Will's grip, his eyes wide with panic.

Will swallowed hard.

'_It's no matter_,'he told himself, sternly. '_You cannot lose faith without taking his away too. You can still reach him– keep trying._'

Wiping away some of the hair that had whipped and stuck itself to his face, Will laid down pressed his body against the sodden wood, stretching forth his right hand as far as it could go as his left hand hugged and held onto the ship's spar. His fingers brushed the man's wrist. He put his hand out further.

"'ey, kid!"

He turned to look behind him at the voice that broke through the silence, calling his name, and he received a surprise. His jaw even fell open for a second. It was Stripes, smiling grimly. He had rope. He was shinnying across the gaff just as Will had been doing before, placing the rope in his teeth so he wouldn't accidently lose it, before getting close enough to hand it off to Will.

"Tie dis 'round yerself!"

Will glanced at the rope and then down at Briggot, who was beginning to sob. It really didn't take much thought. He pursed his lips together and ground his teeth as he leaned down and reached out for Briggot's old and withered hand. He didn't have time to waste with ropes and knots – Briggot was losing his grip.

"Tie it yourself!"

He thought he heard a grunt. Whether it was a grunt of agreement, anger, dissatisfaction or mockery he did not know, but neither did he care. His reaching was a repetition of the time before his was interrupted. Fingers brushing the man's wrist before he reached out with an extra burst of energy and fully grasped Briggot's wrist.

The relief that spread over the man's face was indescribable. Pounds of tension seemed to leave his shoulders and the man visibly relaxed with out letting his fingers go lax. He grinned up at Will, a warm look of appreciation in his eyes.

Will smiled back, and then jumped as someone wrapped a pair of burly arms around him. He quickly peeped over his shoulder just as Stripes pulled back, beginning to tie off the rope that he had apparently wrapped around Will's lithe waste, a smirk on his face.

"Scare ya?!" he bellowed over a clap of thunder.

Will simpered sarcastically back and nodded.

Suddenly the boat lurched upwards, taking Will off-guard and he felt a sudden rise of panic that was too great to let him so much as cry out, as he and Briggot began to tumble; the raging, foamy darkness of the waves swiftly coming to meet them.

**

* * *

Author's Notes: Holy shortness! Another cliffhanger- I know, I know. But this bit of the story has to have a break there if it's going to work- or else go for a lot longer and make you wait longer.... (Speaking of waiting- sorry it took so long! My muse took a vacation... Back now, though). Why is it always convenient to make the cliffhanger by putting in peril? I just bearly noticed that I do that a lot. BUT this cliffhanger wasn't supposed to be there, it just came out. This chapter and the next chapter were actually supposed to be joint chapters, but it got too long and I didn't want to cut things out.... Anyway. To business: **

**CrAzY Pigwidgeon-** Whoa! Hold the blade! Madame la guillotine is beginning to look really forboding... no matter how small.(Where is the Scarlet Pimpernel when you need him?! Lol. j/k) Glad you're paying attention and I'm glad you liked the insomnia... (although having had it more than once, I must say I pity poor William).

**Eledhwen**- I don't remember where your pen name comes from. (It's Tolkien, I know. Read Silmarillion, The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings and am, personally a raging fan of Tolkien... and Peter Jackson's films. (har, har) But I'm having a brain cramp and am too lazy to go look it up.) Heh, heh. Hey, you're good at keeping promises. Am also glad you're enjoying the story. I hope not to disappoint.

**ErinRua**- Big thanks for finding those little mistakes o' mine. Very, very helpful.

**Trinity Day**- Great comments. Very helpful. I actually, never noticed the first person thing. Even looked for it and am not sure of exactly... Let's just say if I do it again in a "jarring" manner than, please, don't be afraid to point it out. Glad you liked Ragetti in Pintel. Now I know I'm on the right track....

**Williz**- You have no idea how much you make me smile. Such enthusiasm for something I think is so shabby. Absolutely _great_ to have you and glad you like where this is going.

Anyway, that's all I can see for now. Keep the reviews comin' and I'll get to work on the next chapters (whilst being horribly sad at Maggie Theis' removal from the site. Could cry like a baby).... The next two or so are action sequences of sorts and kinda crazy, so I might need a beta reader.... Any takers? If interested, just e-mail me and I'll figure out something. Anyway.... See ya!

Jack E.


	9. The Eye Of The Storm

DISCLAIMER:_ I do not and will never own any of the characters or settings appearing in this chapter. They were conceived by Ted Elliot & Terry Rossio, Jay Wolpert and Stuart Beattie and are owned by Disney Enterprises, Inc. Some of the dialogue can be connected to the first film and, hence, is not mine but was inserted into the story to put connections between my story and the film. _

**Chapter 8  
**"_The Eye of the Storm"_

Falling was surreal, in way. For a brief moment, Will felt as if time had slowed to a near stop; the roars of the thunder and blusters of the wind fading away, till complete mute silence was all to be heard.

He couldn't breathe. His lungs had completely frozen– his body entirely stiff and his heart wild with excitement. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, he knew with a stab of icy fear to his soul, that he was going to die. Bother what Jack said about impossibility and improbability! To avoid it seemed impossible. The ocean would most likely end up as being his grave, having slowly and cruelly drowned him and claimed his life.

And yet, for all that the precious gift of his life was worth to him, there was another stronger trepidation that dominated his perceptions…and it was for another. In thoughts identical to those when he was caught in Stripes' iron-like clutches, Will's mind once again flew away to the warm, loving embrace of his beloved.

'_Elizabeth_…'

A sigh caught itself in his chest– a sigh of half-hearted pain and surrender– and he closed his eyes. His mood was unusual. The last time he faced death in the eyes, he had done so with horror and alarm. But during this stint; falling down, down, down toward his gloomy fate; Will felt a strange calm overcome his nerve. And the same thought that he had been frightened of before, he came to acceptance with– in that small space of time. This time he knew almost certainly…he would never see her again. Not in body.

The impact was nothing short of painful. Falling head first, the water's edge slapped and bit Will's raw face viciously and quickly swallowed the rest of his body with glee as he submerged. He was slightly relieved to find that the water was gratifyingly warm, licking at his flesh in an almost soothing manner. Perhaps drowning wouldn't be so bad. He dared to venture and open his tightly shut lids, only to discover that the action did little. The water was terrifyingly dark and fathomless, and he found he was horribly disoriented, the collision having jarred his mind quite a bit.

For a few, fiendishly short seconds, direction could not be determined by him. Whether the void-like depths into which he stared were up, down or at an angle with no name, he did not know nor could he surmise.

A few moments went by in which he was content to simply drift and let the water carry him to where it pleased as he tried to puzzle things out. Slowly, his brain's clockwork began to turn and click properly and as he turned himself right side up, Will suddenly felt appallingly nauseated. Falling in fascination, he hadn't taken a breath before becoming immersed in his ostensible, vast tomb. Deprivation of oxygen was beginning to disorient him again, and to press delayed panic onto his understanding. He needed to get out. He needed air.

Instinctively, he kicked his legs, his face turned upward towards a glimmer of hope of reaching the destination he pursued. But no matter how hard he kicked, his hope seemed to get further and he felt a sickly black and profuse shadow of despair creep into the back of his mind in anattempt to wrap itself around his sanity like a large dark hand coiling long repulsive ebony fingers made to blind and smother. However, he refused to allow it to take hold of him, kicking and stroking with his hands in a personal form of defiance. He may have been certain to die– but he wouldn't pass without fighting.

He surfaced, only just managing to take a gasp of air before he watched with wide eyes as a large wave rose majestically, crested and fell, completely blanketing him underneath itself with such power and speed it seemed an evil attempt to exclusively suffocate and drown. He was abruptly thrust underwater, violently and without mercy. He opened his mouth and soon found himself gagging on and then swallowing the sickly liquid that entirely and overwhelmingly enveloped him. The skin behind his neck grew hot as the never before experienced feeling of claustrophobia seized him. The water was endless, surrounding him in airless weight and pressure with one objective at heart– to kill him. He wouldn't stand for it. He began to strive for the surface for a second time.

A bolt of lightning flashed, he guessed, as the water above himglistened and shone briefly, brightly and bluely. It was almost beautiful in a spellbinding kind of way, making Will half-heartedly wish his situation wasn't so horribly dire, in order that, perhaps, he could simply stop and admire. When illuminated, the water reminded him distinctly of crystalsor ice placed before sunlight or some other celestial luminosity. It seemed like a magical element in some way. However, although beautiful, it seemed so far and unreachable at the same time… so swarthy, discouraging and taunting.

'_Like God_,' he thought bitterly. '_He commands man to strive to come closer and yet hangs above us where no man can reach Him_.…' He almost smirked to himself. His mother would have slapped him for such a thought.

He became aware that his lungs began to burn and feel stretched from want of air, like an acidic fire expanding him from the inside. He kicked harder in a mad attempt to reach the surface to breathe. To have air again. The subtle doubt began to creep away as he came closer– two fathoms from the top, maybe. He began to feel hope and encouragement again. He gave a small, tight-lipped smile, a small chain of bubbles escaping through the tiny crack in his mouth as he did so. He continued to strive.

'_My name is Will Turner . My father was Bootstrap Bill Turner. His blood runs in my veins._'

Suddenly, his lungs lurched dangerously lustily as they began to demand to function freely again, and his hope quickly swept away as panic shot through his limbs when he only just managed to stop his inhalation. He looked up in despair and dearth. He had to breathe– his body demanded it– and he was so close to the water's face, to air. But now, ironically, his body– the thing demanding to expire more than any other aspect of his, at the moment– was giving up on him, making it difficult to reach the surface. He began to feel very sick and dizzy, his lungs starting to throb violently. Had he not been underwater, his eyes probably would have been wet with water of their own. He had to make it. He simply had to.…But he couldn't.

'…_On my word do as I say or I'll pull this trigger and be lost to Davy Jones' Locker._…'

At first, he became frustrated as the water swirled about him mockingly in boundless murk. Then he became severely discouraged as he looked up in time for another majestic flash of lightning. There was no way he could make it out of this. He would make it to the top only to be thrust down again. He was strong, yes, but not as strong as nature's fury– as God's will. Not strong enough. He was exhausted and only a petty piece of prey being played with by an invincible predator– the way a cat plays with its mouse before devouring the wretched inferior vessel. He couldn't do it.

So he didn't. He gave up and he stopped. It was no use fighting the inevitable. He would die. He began to sink into darkness as the surface reïlluminated with a flash of sky fire. One of the last lights he was sure he would see with his waking eyes.

'_Will_?'

'_Hm_?'

'_Can I tell you something_? _A secret_?'

'_Of course, Elizabeth_.'

'_When I saw that ship explode– back on our adventure– and I remembered you were on it_… _that was the moment, possibly, where I was the most frightened in my entire life._'

'… _Really_?'

'_Don't scare me like that again, Will. Take care of yourself…for me_.'

'_I will_.'

'_Promise me_.'

'_I'll promise you…if you promise the same to me._'

'…_I promise_.…'

Will felt a pang pluck his spirit as a muffled roar of thunder shook through the water's depths. Oh, why did that memory have to hit him now! He had made a promise to Elizabeth.…A _promise_. He was supposed to take care of himself. It was a covenant, in fact…and he broke it. He felt awful. He had, for sure, done something that Jack would call stupid. Now he was going to die. Elizabeth wouldn't have done something like that. She would have kept her promise. She wouldn't have put herself in harm's way for the sake of courage or whatever else it was that was going through his naïve mind when he did what he did. In his heart he knew she never would. She would've thought and fought for her safety… for him. He didn't, and felt the coarse sting of failure. He should have done more, for her. But he hadn't. He was stupid.

Strange, isn't it? In tales and stories of heroes and gallants, the one never dies, never loses hope. But those are children's tales. Stories that remove the truth about a man and his flaws. The thing people don't see is that no man is perfect. There is no such thing as a Prince Charming that can brave all, have everything and lose nothing. Men are defected, flawed, imperfect. Perhaps even Jack Sparrow could be included. Their strength has limits, their hearts and minds too. And many have been broken, though people don't sing those songs; as they tell of broken hope and the truth of men's lives: they aren't invincible.

'_I'm watching over you, Will.…_'

He closed his eyes and silently implored his distant bride after a petty forgiveness for his stupidity. For his accursed ambition. He asked for forgiveness for being nothing more than a man. Mortal. Imperfect. He would have done better…had the water not been so deep.

'_I'm sorry, Elizabeth_.…'

He began to let go.

A hand took Will's. A hand strong and yet soft to touch, gripping his in a clasp that was a lowly succor and yet amazingly true and vice-like. Upwards he looked to try and discover the face of the man who dared to venture and save his life in water so perilous and so deep. His body chilled and stiffened as he did so, for he was astonished to see and find out that it was… no one. Not a soul nor sign one was in sight was apparent– not an arm, a face, a _hand_. He blinked as lightning flashed and confirmed for sure that what was there was, indeed, nothing. He became afraid. What was this black magic that pulled him of its own will? A demon of the devil? He clamped his eyes firmly shut as he felt himself being hauled through the water, swiftly.

His head broke the surface, and surprise followed swiftly by relief swept over him as the unseen hand released him and he was permitted to gasp mightily, deeply, desperately. He sighed. Never in his life had he felt so grateful for the nipping and stinging sensation that the cold slapped him with. He could breathe. Going from full, smothering lack of air to open spaces of wind was very gratifying. But the change from no air to large gasps of the stuff was a bit much for his body and his head was made to spin as a rush of hot energy coursed through his spine, up, around his head and down the bridge of his nose. He shuttered. Then remembering the manner in which he was spared, he lifted up his hand and looked at it, back and front. Seeing it looked normal, he cast his eyes about the desert of waves and lightning and saw nothing yet again. Perplexity overcame him and his brow furrowed in bemused puzzling. Was he saved by…nothing? Was it some figment of his imagination?

"Men overboard!" a voice rang out, distant and yet clear. But, to his chagrin, Will could not make out the direction of it's origin, the thunder swiftly clapping over the call and covering its tracks. Raindrops spattered in Will's face and pattered on his head as he tread water, thinking carefully about what to do. His drenched hair clung to his temples and cheeks, the very tips dancing about like chocolate seaweed on the waving watery surface that kissed his jaw. Strangely enough, he felt re-invigorated. As if that hand or force or whatever it was not only pulled him up physically but in another manner.

He coughed, his lungs heaving to expel some unintentionally inhaled rain and sea spray accompanying the air.

_Ding, ding, ding_.

If he had been a dog, his ears would have perked straight up. He could hear the bell of the _Predator_ ringing, and, to his gratification, it was closer. Perhaps by some strange miracle he would make it out of this.

He cast his eyes round about in partial desperation, for he could not spy sail nor shadow of the ship (and a small part of him chided its larger half for hoping, calling him a fool). Lightening flashed overhead and the wind roared. And although it was no longer as frightening, his spirits began to fall again as he heard no further sound. All that he saw was miles of rough and untamed swells; endless, ominous and barren. Thunder rolled and brought him back to thinking on simply how to possibly survive.

His cheeks had gone numb again. His ears began to ring with a sole high and continuous tone from within his head as their tips started biting fiercely, the wind gnawing on their vulnerable edges with its sharp, cold and vicious teeth.

Last time he had been wrecked at sea the ship had been detonated from the powder magazine, giving him the advantage of a large piece of the deck to lay upon. Unfortunately, he had no such blessing now. Perhaps if he.… He paused, dropping the train of thought which he had.

He thought he had heard something once again. Perhaps it was the ship? He listened intently, fully expecting to be disappointed once again and be forced to go back to thinking. But he was not. Above his ears' monotonous peal it seemed to him that he heard a frail and distant voice, carried and batted about by the zephyrs, calling out in despair. He listened carefully as he heard it for a second time. And that was when Will jumped at its familiarity.

'_Briggot_!'

He was still alive! The thought was nothing if it wasn't encouraging, and Will couldn't help but almost chuckle as he gave a sigh: the old timer certainly had a lot more in him than his bag of bones dared to suggest.

Now, maybe Lady Fortune decided to assist our William now, and maybe, as you have seen before, there was another unseen force at work in his aid; but as luck or phantoms or gods or coincidence, or whatever it may have been would have it, Will was surprised when his treading left hand caught on something of a rough material as he stroked downwards. He did not know what it was, but he did know it was underwater and it was not a living thing. As he continued to tread, his senses heightened, his hand brushed whatever it was for a second time, and he thrust it out and grabbed hold of the unseen object.

He gasped at its touch and brought it to his face to make sure he wasn't imagining things. He wasn't.

'_Tie dis 'round yerself_.…'

Praises be! The line! Stripes had tied the line around his waist before the fall– the cheeky devil.

'_God bless him_!' Will could not help but think as he gave it a round score of yanks, discovering upon one of the fifteenth yanks or so that it was, indeed, tied to something at the other end– something big and solid– and Will grinned with an open-mouthed breathy laugh of relief, victory and even a tint of amusement. He'd been looking for the ship for what seemed like minutes in this awful eternity and weather when he had been tethered to it like a dog the whole time! He could have slapped himself for forgetting. Now _that_ was definitely something Jack would label '_stupid_.' Silly.…

Briggot cried out again and Will smirked as any fear he once had fully forsook him. He was safe, he could easily make it back to the ship, and he had yards of slack rope beside him.… Why not give Briggot a hand? Yes, that seemed like a thing worth while. Thinking nothing more on it, Will launched himself forward in a hardy swim as he began to search for the old man.

It soon proved to be a task that Will had underestimated in difficulty. The waves were still rampant, picking him up and dropping him several feet, and the rain was still thick as the velvet drapes of a king's castle– the fact that several of the drops had decided that his eyeballs would be a fun target to shoot for wasn't a matter of assistance either. It didn't take long before William realized he'd never be able to visually find Briggot in this tempest– it was impossible if he didn't just happen to run into him. Thankfully, there were other ways.

"Briggot!" he called as loudly as he could, though the wind, the waves and the thunder were greatly overpowering. "Briggot where are you?"

It was remarkable, really. Will almost had time to appreciate it, too. A voice in the air calling back to him, a turn of the head, a flash of lighting and there he was for Will to see: waving a hand in the air occasionally to draw further attention. He shouted something but Will could not decipher what it was. So he simply began to swim towards him.

Briggot, it appeared, was either loath to do likewise or he simply couldn't. He remained where he was, treading water in a manner that suggested he was having a very hard time doing so. Will began to swim faster.

Suddenly, to Will's great astonishment, the line round his waist pulled taught, preventing him from advancing. He became angry as he realized he had swum to its end and could go no farther– Briggot was a meager fifteen feet away. He looked over his shoulder and found that the rope was now a straight line slowly sloping upward and fading into the darkness where he now knew the ship was. It was certain that he could not go any farther. Briggot would have to come to him.

He swiftly turned around in his place amongst the water, his hair whipping wildly about as a large gust of wind decidedly swept him by, smacking him fiercely on the side of the face. He shook the blow off, ignoring its cutting chill and returning his attention to the poor drowning soul before him. He became alarmed as Briggot dipped underneath the watery blanket-like tyrant about him, appearing to swallow a hefty mouthful of sickening seawater as he did so. Urgency became emphasized to Will. Time was running out. He needed to get to Briggot.

Having been swept back a bit, Will swam back out to the end of the rope's length and then he stretched forth his hand in a gesture for Briggot to take it in his own. "Briggot!"

But the grizzled sailor did not see, nor did he look for the origin of the voice– if he heard it at all. He simply stroked and struggled to keep his head above the wild waters about him.

"Briggot!" Will cried out in a repetition, his voice masked over by a wild clap of thunder, to his anger and frustration. He gritted his teeth and let a low growl rumble in his throat before shouting again– this time as loud as he could find himself to muster. "Briggot!"

Triumph, however small! The poor mariner found it within himself to crack open an eye and spot Will with his hand extended, rough and splatted with the water of rain and sea spray. His face appeared as if considering whether the sight was an illusion or not and, if it wasn't, whether the choice would be wise or not. It was as if he was judging Will's trustworthiness in itself and the young blacksmith frowned.

Will felt the line jerk in an unnerving and unnatural manner. His heart skipped a beat and he glanced over his shoulder only to glance back and see Briggot take another quick plunge. They were running out of time.

"Briggot!" Will called again in despair. "Briggot– listen to me! I can't swim any farther. I can get you out of here– " at this, Briggot's attention seemed to perk, "but there isn't much time. I can't reach you and they're reeling me in – I need you to swim to me!"

Another moment in which, with a flash of lightning and a roar of thunder, Briggot took a breathless space of time for thought. In truth, it may have only been a split second. But it felt like minutes were ticking by at a rapid and yet dragged out space of time, and as the rope jerked again with more force, Will became rather angry and impatient. What could there be to consider– to think about? Briggot could take his hand and live or pass the opportunity and drown at sea. What other factor's could there possibly be to come into play?

Apparently, Briggot finally came to the same conclusion. The poor man began to swim for the lad's outstretched hand, stroking one arm over the water in movements surprisingly powerful for a man his age. Fifteen feet became ten feet. And then ten feet five. Excitement coursed through every nerve in the young blacksmith's body and the shine of fear that illuminated Briggot's eyes transformed into a glimmer of hope.

Hand over hand he stroked and the distance swiftly closed. Four feet. Three. Two. One. Lightning flashed and the world slowed about Will as he caught his breath. Briggot's old and grizzled hand shot up out of the water, drizzles of the liquid dripping off of his sodden sleeve, as his hand cut its path through the air and his fingertips made a brushing contact with Will's palm.

Will was jerked back, suddenly and violently; and both men felt ice run into their hearts as Briggot's hand crashed into the water and he began to flounder, frightened and helpless. Their eyes were wide with shock and surprise, and they could only lock gazes as distance was cruelly placed between them.

Will could have cried out rage and frustration. He almost had him! Blast it! The man's hand had touched his! And now he was being pulled away from him, against his will, leaving Briggot to abandonment and certain death. How could this happen!

The man dipped under the water again and Will's heart began to pound with a renewed determination, fired by his anger.

"No! Briggot!" he roared over the thunder, rethrusting out his hand as far as he could force it to go. "Keep swimming! You can make it!"

Somehow, the man heard him and he had the strength and courage to heed. His strokes became wide, wild and strong as he burst with a sudden energy to chase after Will's unwillingly retreating form. And Will refused to let him slow.

"Come on! You can do it!" he shouted in bellows of encouragement. "Keep swimming! It's only a little farther! You can make it!"

The man stroked with a vigor that was reassuring for Will and even inspiring. He swam regardless of the fatigue that Will knew was plaguing his old and worn limbs, with a faith that some boy he hardly knew at all would save him from the perilous face that chased him, nipping at his heels. One hand over the other sprayed and splashed as he fought against the mighty waves that rose and fell, sometimes pushing him closer to the blacksmith and other times pulling him farther away. His eyes were clenched shut, his face contorted in pain and concentration as if it took absolute attention just to make the next stroke, taking it one sweep at a time. He breathed raggedly, spitting and sputtering a mouthful of sea water every so often as he did so. At times it seemed that he began to slow and give up, but a relentless shout from Will would reach his ears and his pace would quicken, returning to his previous vivacity.

Suddenly, with a wooden _thump_ Will felt a sudden fire of relief and further determination sweep through him as his back met with the wood of the ship's solid hull. The men hauling him upward paused for a moment and Will took the time to let a slight smirk creep over his countenance as he turned back towards his frantic friend.

"Come on, Briggot! We're here! Just a few more strokes! You can make it!"

Energy unlike any Will had previously seen in the man burst forth as he became empowered by the encouraging news: they were there. The gap between them closed and with a firm slap Briggot's old and wrinkled hand finally made its way back into Will's young and strong one, and they clasped each other tightly as Will felt the rope about his waist begin to raise him up.

He looked Briggot in the eyes. One pair a dark vortex of chocolate that shown with a relentless sinew of fire, hot and wild; the other cloudy grey but a shining light of their own speaking of relief, gratitude and elation. And they smiled, Briggot trembling slightly from the exertion and giving an exhausted laugh as Will gave a crooked smirk.

"Yes," he whispered, in a soft form of praise. "Yes."

Briggot sighed and let his entire body go lax as his body was raised out of the water as well and Will couldn't help but let out a small laugh. But the laugh was interrupted as, to Will's and Briggot's horror, the old man's slack and slippery-wet fingers slipped from between Will's fast clasp and he fell. Will could only gasp and then shout in alarm as he clawed the air in a mad attempt to recapture the poor old man. But he could do nothing and he watched, helplessly, as Briggot collided with the foamy waves too far below to reach– the final look upon his face one of ultimate shock and equal helplessness before he was swallowed up by the sea.

* * *

"There 'e is! We got 'im!" 

A cheer rang up from the _Predator_'s crew as Stripes pulled the final string of rope between them and the Turner lad. The large man grabbed the sodden man thrown overboard by the collar with a large and beefy hand, hauling him up over the ship's rail and dropping him on the deck like a half-drowned pup. In one swift movement, Stripes produced a knife and had managed to cut Will's lifeline away before grabbing him heavily by the shoulders and standing him up on his own two feet.

The storm had calmed for a moment, the wind and thunder quieting and the waves less wild. There was a round of applause as members of the crew hooted and slapped Will's back, others simply laughed and clapped and a pair of gents linked arms and began to swing each other about in merriment.

Stripes let out a particular loud guffaw slapping Will particularly hard on the shoulder. "'ow 'bout that! The boy's not even a proper sailor an' he managed ta make t'out alive!"

The roots and applause continued on, but why they were glad Will could not figure out for the life of him. He did not join them in cackle and his mirth at the prospect of survival was less than what it could have been. He wasn't of importance to them. They were no friends of his– he had known them only a day, after all. Nor had he done anything heroic. He hadn't saved his life, the rope had– Stripes had. He could have been unconscious and still have made it out alive. It was no feat worth praising. But, most of all, he did not laugh and feel relief at his own success and safety, for his heart was troubled and he could do nothing but watch, listen and frown as an unsettled discomfort churned in his soul.

'_You fool_,' he hissed inwardly to himself. '_You stupid, insignificant fool_. _You couldn't even save yourself without the help of another– what made you think you could go off and save Briggot? Thanks to you, the man was given a false hope for life, only to have it crushed in the end as death took him. You stupid, proud, insignificant fool_.'

"'ey, Turner!" Will turned to see the red and cheerful face of the young Charlie approaching him, hopeful and childlike. "Where be Briggot?"

Ice traveled swiftly up his spine followed by a flow of fire as Will tensed with the surprise at the suddenness of the question. Then cold sorrow struck him– pity and guilt. He pursed his lips as he cast his eyes downward towards the ship's deck, avoiding all eyes…especially Charlie's.

His silence spoke loudly, however, and soon all laughing, cheering and other forms of momentary merrymaking faded away as the crew turned to face the downcast lad in their midst. A stubborn jaw set, Will said nothing and looked at no one, a distant rumble of thunder rolling from some aloof place amongst the clouds reaching their upturned and suddenly eager ears.

"Boy?" another prodded silently.

The corner of Will's lip twitched disconcertingly before he raised his eyes, bright with a light much different from any of the other illuminations within them that night: a light of sadness, glowing as keen and as cold as the stars in the heavens. There was no reply to be heard, not even a mutter. And the crew who saw him frowned, for they began to comprehend his muteness and began to murmur amongst themselves with words of a shock and melancholy that matched their aspects as the storm renewed its potency.

Will silently cut through their numbers as voices flew through the air– but he wasn't too far gone to miss what was said:

"Captain!"

"What is it, Church!"

"_Black Pearl_ ho, sir!"

"Where away!"

"One point forward on the starboard beam!"

* * *

The sea is a remarkable thing in many ways. She can be in a magnificently good mood for one part of the day and then, suddenly and out of the clear blue she once was, she can became deadly with anger or her mischievous idea of fun. From sunshine and birds singing in the trees, to howling winds and the crash of dangerously large waves upon the shore, her changes can be nothing if not drastic. But sometimes she can be both at once. 

Being an experienced man of the sea, Norrington knew this well and was not much surprised when, though his side of the ocean was fairly calm and peaceful, his ship just barely missed the interception of a particularly nasty-looking storm, the _Trove_ skimming across its frontal edge. It was one of the moments that he took the time to smile to himself and actually admire it. There were other men with him that were not of such experience, and found the sight something of an awe of sorts. Such a wonder! So powerful and terrible and yet so beautiful in its own way, black against the midnight blue of the nocturne around them. A mass wall of void-like shadow in the night, with no light of star nor moon but of sky fire as the distant rumble of thunder sped across the water. However, admiring would have to be put aside, as business was still first and foremost.

"That storm is a demon if I ever did see one. We must go around it," Gillette noted off-handedly as he passed the spy-glass in use back to the commodore.

Norrington took the glass and took another peek back at the storm. "What do you think we are doing, Lieutenant– sailing into it?" he stated with a tone that was just as relaxed and cool as the lower officer's remark.

The younger officer's cheeks reddened slightly with embarrassment, causing him to look all the more childish with his young, round face. "Well…" he hadn't even begun when he started to fade away, too flustered to continue. Gillette, although a good man deep down– _very_ deep down– was a rather proud and _amour-propre_ youth, and his haughtiness was something that both helped and hurt him, depending on the situation. When his pride was hurt, it became evident and he grew timid…but, as some would say, alas! it would only be for a short while.

Norrington took no notice of the Lieutenant's flustered state as he squint one eye and brought the spy glass back to magnify his view of the storm's wrath. He smirked smugly, decidedly glad that he wasn't caught up in there. Although, the fusillade would delay their journey to Tortuga by a meager amount of time.

"Perhaps," the slightly-unsure voice of Mr. Murtogg emanated from beside Norrington's left elbow, "Perhaps we should turn back around and do as Mister Sparrow said to do– goin' to St. Lucia an' all?"

It was only a suggestion, and this Norrington knew, not saying anything in return but busying himself with the studying of the tempest beyond. Gillette, however, took great pride in his haughtiness and it swiftly returned as he bent a superior eye down upon his subordinate, the ghost of a smirk on the corners of his mouth.

"What, are you _stupid_! To take the advice from the likes of sea-rat like Jack Sparrow would not only be foolhardy but chancy in a way that we cannot afford. Isn't that right, Commodore?" he questioned, locking his hands behind his back and rolling once on the balls of his feet as he awaited his approving response. None came, except for the unsettled voice of Mr. Murtogg.

"Captain."

The smug grin slowly slid from Gillette's face. "What?"

Mr. Murtogg shuffled his feet and moistened his lips as his eyes darted back and forth, nervously, between Gillette's face and a patch of nothing right behind his left ear. "It's '_Captain_,' now, remember? For the sake of disguise."

Gillette rolled his eyes and smothered his expression with a look of annoyance. "Whatever! Commodore, wasn't I right?" This last part he shot over his shoulder, though with a slightly softer tone. His face slid into perplexity when, again, he did not receive an answer.

"Captain," Murtogg timorously corrected, the same dodgy eyeball movement taking him. He didn't have Mr. Mullroy with him at the time to assist him, you see. He was below, insisting on getting a bit of sleep while there was nothing to do.

"Oh, shut up!" Gillette barked, causing Murtogg to jump slightly, before spinning on heel to face the non-responding Norrington, his sandy-blonde hair gleaming in the moonlight. "_Commodore_!" He opened his mouth to repeat his question, his brow creased into an angry frown to match his pursed lips, when he stopped and a curious look took hold of his countenance.

The commodore, whilst the argument was taking place and looking through the spyglass, had glimpsed a sight that stroke a rarely touched space of curiosity in his mind and took a fairly good hold of his attention. He peeked over the rim of the glass to assure himself of where he was to look to, before squinting an eye and peeking in again. At first, he thought it a shadow, a trick of the distant storm's lightning dancing in the thick clouds and rain into which he looked. But as he followed the strange shape, seeing that it simply refused to disappear, his eyebrows shot up and his lips parted slightly in surprise. Peeking over the rim of the spyglass once again to clear his vision a bit and confirm his sight was how Gillette spotted him, the taken look upon his face, evidently having not vanished.

"Commodore?"

"Yes, Gillette?" his voice was steady and monotonous, despite the look upon his face that, by now, had begun to slip away as Norrington regained his composure. However, Gillette had known the commodore for too long and too well to not be able to catch the small hiccup in his visage, save the chance that he had been looking away– which he had not.

"What is it, sir?" The young commander made his way beside the commodore again, placing soft, white hands onto the smooth, freshly-painted wood of the ship's rail upon which he leaned his weight.

"What is what, Gillette?" Again his voice was smooth and dull as the commodore peeked through the glass before casting a sidelong glance towards the young lieutenant, a mischievous twinkle in his eye and a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Gillette couldn't help but smirk as well, though he was slightly disquieted. "What is it that you see?"

The commodore collapsed the spyglass with a snap before pocketing it in the old brown merchant's vest he wore. The smirk he once wore disappeared and his face became collected and stern once again as he did so. Despite his costume; once a commodore, always a commodore and currently, to Gillette he very much looked it. His eyes were cast outward towards the storm as he locked his arms behind his back and squared his shoulders in a proud and sturdy stance, cool and calculating with a furrow to his brow as he began to think. His jaw clenched and released just so as he began to softly grind his teeth back and forth before part his lips and hissing to himself, "The wretch."

"Sir?"

Without turning his eye towards the man beside him in so much as a glance, Norrington spoke, his voice collected and directive as the commander he was, "Order all hands on deck, Lieutenant. Heave to, set the top sails and come about. We're going to have to sail into that mess."

What little eyebrows that were visible upon Gillette's smooth brow shot up on a furrow of gobsmacked surprise. His jaw dropped open and closed several times like a fish out of water before he was finally able to get out any words at all, chasing after the commodore.

"Sir! What do you mean!"

Frustration flashed through Norrington, though he pushed it aside with a snap over the shoulder, "I mean that whether we like it or not, Gillette, we are going to be needed and must be there to give assistance!" His feet pounded against the wood below them as he made his way swiftly for the quarterdeck.

Gillette felt a pang of confusion and stopped for a split second before running to follow the leader again. "Be _where_, sir?"

What he was expecting cannot be determined, but he was quite stunned by the response he received:

"We'll find out."

The young lieutenant stopped again and stood slightly confounded; shocked for only a moment before rediscovering his composure and marching after his commander with a trace of panic to his normally boastful tone. "What do you mean! How do you know that, sir!"

The Commodore's brow furrowed in the sensation of a troubled mood and his pace slowed to a stop. The light breeze ruffled his thick brown hair and sent waves through the loose tails of his worn disguise-jacket. Gillette could not see it, for James' face was turned away, but the commodore's normally stern and collected expression was furrowed into one of seemingly doubtful speculation, his mouth bent in a thoughtful frown.

Those who knew James knew a man who never passed by a moment to think things through thoroughly. He was never one to act rashly, for such things as hastiness was a thing forever impressed upon him as a thing forever to be avoided. Though must come before actions and actions be subject to thought as they occur, lest situations become dangerous, unpredictable, uncontrollable and even deadly– things that he could not afford. Careful reasoning was the rock for success.… So what was his reasoning for this action?

"Just a feeling of sorts, Lieutenant."

He briskly walked away before Gillette could say anything on the matter, his face flushed with embarrassment and a slight boiling of anger. He grinded his teeth angrily. What he had said was something he had never dreamed he would ever have said, being a naval commander of his status. A feeling? A confounded feeling! What was the matter him! '_Feeling_'s were not acceptable in the British Royal Navy! They lead to nothing but confusion and trouble! They weren't fact-based. They weren't securely hypothesized. They weren't prompted from a solid form of intelligence. Blast it, they weren't even based on genuine reliable knowledge of any kind! They were unfounded and unwarranted '_what if_'s that had more chances at going wrong than right. Feelings were stabs in the dark with one's teeth and, more often than not, they hurt more than they helped. He knew that from personal experience.

'_Blast it, Turner's having an effect on me_.…'

The thought was a bit silly, really. One year ago he had been lightly taunting at the lad for jumping into things before he knew what was going on or what he was going to do. '_Rash_,' he had called him. '_Too rash_.' …Oddly enough it was his rashness and feelings that spurred him to the unlawful actions of the previous year and led him to Elizabeth far before the commodore. It was luck, the commodore was sure of it. Or perhaps it was fate. But, whatever it was, Norrington knew that it was a one-time thing and wasn't foolish enough to believe that just because it worked out for the young blacksmith didn't mean it would work again for anyone around him in his lifetime.

Luckily, the commodore's guess was based upon just a tiny bit more than a little '_feeling_,'

and he gripped on the hope that all would be well like a man clinging to rope one hundred feet above a jagged canyon floor as he pointed out the muddled shape of a familiar ghostly black ship to the helmsman with instructions to follow.

"Commodore!" He groaned inwardly, though just managed to keep himself from actually doing said action. Gillette thudded up onto the quarterdeck, short of breath and rather flushed and piqued with curiosity. As he breathed harshly, he smiled widely and let loose a few '_ha_'s. "You were just– kidding. Right– sir?"

Had Norrington been a lesser man, he would have replied sardonically. But, despite his new garb he was and always would at least be remembered as a commodore of the Royal Service and so he remained cool and unreadable as he locked strong arms behind a rod-straight back and faced his subordinate with a casual eye.

"You heard what I said, Lieutenant. All hands on deck, heave to, set the top sails and come about– we are, in fact, going in."

The amused grin immediately fell from the younger man's face and was replaced with eyes that went as round and wide as a chicken's eggs. "What? B…but–"

"Don't question, Lieutenant. Just do it," came the dry interruption.

"Yes, Commodore, sir." The young officer shut his mouth and turned to do as he was told.

"Oh, and Gillette?" The lad turned around. "It's '_Captain_.'"

* * *

Moving towards the heart of the storm, the violence hadn't shown any sign of waxing or waning. Its pace its power remained steady and surprisingly unchanging for hours– hours that felt like the longest of years. The rain poured down relentlessly and unforgivingly to the point it seemed unnatural. The clouds didn't pull away but remained dark as midnight and as heavy as a barrel large enough to hold all the drink in Tortuga without giving any up. 

The lightning was wild and wicked; stretching sharp, groping fingers of fire across the sky and flashing pillars of heat and radiance to the unsettled surface of churning water with explosions that seemed to shake the earth herself--to tear the skies and rip the clouds in a torrential path through Heaven. The seas were grey and foaming as she picked up and dropped large hills of water with great swirls and splashes. The little ships daring to brave her wrath couldn't– wouldn't– stand a chance. They were toys, her playthings, and she was the one to decide their fate. None of them could resist her awesome power…not even the _Black Pearl_.

But Captain Jack Sparrow was never one to back down– not from the sea. He stood, resolute and unmoving save for his rocking with the ship's not-so-subtle sway. Now, concerning certain happenings in his past, some claim– and with utmost surety, mind you– that Jack Sparrow was indeed and very thoroughly mad. Those of them who knew him could state otherwise… though, due to his very distinct and unorthodox behavior, they sometimes had very large and very heavy doubts about their thinking such.

Times when Jack acted '_strangely_' came and went as they (or Jack) pleased. Sometimes he'd be '_normal_' for days at a time, sometimes he'd be '_daft_' for days at a time, sometimes the days would alternate and sometimes his '_moods_' would alternate throughout a day. But no one could quite predict where it would be and when it would be… not even when he was sober.

Currently, Jack was highly exhilarated– though that was very easy to tell. The part that wasn't quite so easy to tell was what _kind_ of exhilaration he felt, for there are many different kinds. Was he determined in seriousness? Was he excited and relatively carefree? None could quite tell. For though he grit his teeth as he strove mightily with the ocean, a glint of not _quite_ readable fervor shone in his eyes, a vigorous crease of concentration was cut into his brow, and his jaw was squared in exertion; his lips, every so often, would curve into a smile that only a man on the wings of true freedom of the heart could know. And he'd laugh into the howl of the wind and the roar of the thunder with his eyes twinkling, though never losing their grim focus of his goal– whatever it was.

A sky-breaking _CRACK!_ broke the clouds as an angry digit of white fire barely missed the _Pearl's_ mainmast. The sea howled in fury and the wind raged in wild anger. Some men shrunk, either inwardly, outwardly or both. But Jack's grin, glinting of silver and gold, only broadened as his sturdy arms held fast to his ship's helm.

The _Pearl_ rocked to and from, tossing and battering the poor sailors aboard her with apologetic bumps and jumps that were not of her control. Her ebony sails had been swiftly and soundly reefed and she was holding out fairly well against the storm… but even ships have their limits. And despite the mad smile that spread widely across Jack's face, the daft captain was very much concerned. With each wave that she rode and fought the pirate could feel the groan of his beloved tremor through her bowels to her extremities. Her keel, her hull, her deck, the beautiful helm in his hands which was hers, all shuddered and moaned as any living woman might from too much strain and agony and not enough rest. At those times, he would groan with her, for regardless of the fact that he was a man and she a ship– he of flesh and blood and she of wood and canvas– in heart, they were one. He felt her pain and she his … just like Will and Elizabeth.

Down one swell, up another; the wind pressing naughty zyphers against the ship's breast; the thunder screaming in attempts to shatter her; the _Black Pearl_ heaved and strove and worked for her venture.

'_Ohhhh_…' she groaned lowly and deeply for her pain and exhaustion was great and her trial difficult beyond anything she had previously known from storms.

"I know, Darlin'" Jack muttered through clenched teeth in reply, the hurt not incomprehensible to him. "Just keep goin'. You can do it– I know you can." He did. He knew everything about her and he had the purest of faith in her. She was strong.

Her groaning fell slightly more silent more silent and happened less frequently. Jack could comfort her. He knew her. But regardless of that, her groans would still rattle out every now and then– for even he could not make her pain completely go away.

_Flash_!

_BOOM!_

Hours ticked by mercilessly. The sun rose and began to set, though it was not evident. The darkness was as thick as the clouds about them and the light of day never touched nor changed the obscurity of the night. The storm sang its deadly song and roared on. The wind positively screamed, the thunder blasted and the lightning exploded in bursts bright enough to blind. The sea was insane with movement wild and fierce, tossing the ship about in her grasps the way children toss a little ball back and forth amongst themselves. The rain came down in tremendous sheets of icy needles. And for all her work, the sea was beating all remaining strength from the _Black Pearl_ and her crew. Even Jack was beginning to grow weak, his arms throbbing and his body aching maliciously.

"Jack!" a female voice called through a short space of air; though it sounded as if it were a great distance as the woman's voice was carried off by devilish arms of the squall's gust. The pirate took his eyes from the wild mass before him and frowned at Anamaria as she made her way towards him on the quarterdeck. Her face was grim and her hair wild, but her eyes held a certain calm and collect as the eye of hurricane is despite the disaster that surrounds it in tumultuous swirling turmoil. She opened her mouth and shouted:

"Captain! We have ta turn 'er around!"

Jack pursed lips in a scowl before turning his eyes away, back to the endless waves beyond. A large wave slapped the ship's starboard side and added to the captain's already dripping coat. He spat water from his mouth without moving his eyes, salty sea water drizzling in a steady fall from the corners of his leather tricorn. "No!" was his reply.

Anamaria pursed her own lips to a snarl before pouncing onto the deck and slinking beside her captain with the grace of a wildcat despite the ship's jerks and drops. "The wind is too strong, Captain! She can't take much more of this!"

"An' who're _you_ to tell me 'bout my own ship!" Jack barked back angrily in a shout above the din.

Anamaria fell silent for a moment and frowned with flushing shame and hurt. Jack had never really spoken to her in such a way before. He was always kind despite her harsh way of treatment towards him. It was true that no one knew the _Pearl_ better than Jack, but she couldn't help but argue with him. To go would seem mad. The _Black_ _Pearl_ may have been strong, but she wasn't indestructible.

Jack continued without so much as a glance in her directing as he pulled out his compass and shifted his gaze from it to the waves ahead multiple times, a grin squirming into his lips as he spoke again, "She can hold a bit longer, Ana. We're treadin' on their heels, we're that close! Go check on the lass now, love!" And he paid her no further attention, as if she'd already left his sight. She was dismissed.

She stood there for a moment with a glare meant to severely injure the one who received it. She despised being treated like some landlubber of a woman who was expected to do everything she was told obediently and kiss the feet of her lord. She wasn't like that. He of all people ought to have known.

But in all respects, Jack Sparrow was always one to surprise her and– to her astonishment– he did so now by turning to her with a soft gaze. "Listen, Ana," he leaned close to her ear so he could speak in a softer tone, "I promise we'll turn away if the storm doesn't begin to let up in the next hour. I won't let anythin' 'appen to the crew– you know tha'. But s'for the lass– she needs 'er lad. She loves 'im. An' she's my friend, as is 'e. I don' 'ave many friend like them, Ana. I need to take care o' them."

She stood still yet again, her own gaze softening a bit as she came to understand things. She frowned but not sadly so. It was a frownof softness and the sobriety of comprehension that had taken hold of her, and she felt her anger recess.

Ever since the death of Bootstrap and the incident with Barbossa, Jack hadn't had many true friends. He couldn't. It was too hard, for he didn't feel he could trust anyone again. Nor did he feel he could bear the loss of another loved one. Ana had not been overly fond of Will Turner when she first met him. He mostly isolated himself, refusing to mingle with others of the crew and a constant frown of some sort was pressed upon his brow. Sometimes it was worry. Other times it was anger. And yet other times he seemed depressed or stressed with sadness. He was a strange sort. But after the adventure of the previous year, Ana had noticed a certain change in Jack, even though she had only known him for a year or so by then. He seemed to have found many things that were lost. Parts of his life, parts of _himself_. He held a certain air of contentment and happiness where he had been a bit empty before. He had his ship back and little bit of himself came back with her, yes. But there was something else about him and she noticed whenever they recalled the names of Elizabeth Swann or especially Will Turner. His eyes would change from burning with the fire that was Jack's zest for life and melt into a steady but pulsing ardor of admiration and even love. And then he'd cast his eyes upon his crew with the same softness in his eyes and smile a smile that was far less open and wild. Because he understood: he had friends again. People he could hold close to his heart. And the thought made him glow.

Barbossa had been cursed by a ban from consumption , pleasure and real life and Jack had escaped it, yes. But in some ways that curse came hand-in-hand with a curse that took hold of Jack. His heart hardened and for the longest time he was empty. For too long he'd beenwith no one to talk to. For too long he'dmasking himself from the rest of the world. For too long his thoughts had been his only companion and trust his forsaken friend. For far, far too long… Jack had been lonely. But not anymore.

"Go take check on 'er, Ana," Jack's voice broke through her reverie, as gently as it could be in the noise among them. "An' tell the men to prepare for battle– jus' a couple o' swells an' we'll be on that bloody _Abyss_, whether she likes it or not!"

She nodded grimly, hiding her shock. She thought it would take several more hours to catch up with the accursed ship before them. But Jack had his compass and the compass didn't lie. Neither would he. So she stumbled here way down from the quarterdeck and towards the companionway that lead to the Turner girl's cabin.

Ana smirked slightly as she did so. Jack had locked the girl in her cabin as a safety precaution– sailors with years of experience could easily be tossed overboard in a storm of the likes of this one. The girl, one more accustomed to the sturdy steadiness of land than the churning pitch of the sea wouldn't have stood a chance. But she protested. Oh, did she protest! She had been angry as a raging fever cursing Jack and attempting to fight off her '_captors_' (Gibbs earning a haft bruise to the temple from that one). She was frightfully angry, for apparently it wasn't the first time Jack had done this to her.

Hopefully she'd behave this time, for as any turned her eyes towards the seas before, she was surprised to see in a flash of lightning the silhouette of a ghostly black galleon framed against the sky and Ana knew that they were in for some trouble. Big trouble.

* * *

Will had been angry, though with the current situation he was forced to keep it hidden and push aside for the moment. Foulkes had paid little heed to the news of Briggot's death and what trivial heed he did pay was rather curt and uncaring. His crew took it as a blow, considering it the equivalent to losing a brother in the midst of battle. But Foulkes had brushed it and Will aside with a carefree attitude, saying that it was a terrible shame but that they had more important matters at hand. 

'_You remember what you must do, don't you Turner_?' he had hissed with a cold glare towards Will, who had said nothing in reply. '_Aye, you remember, an' you don' fool me_. _You can't avoid it, Will_. _It must be done_.'

A great suspicion had arisen in Will during his first meeting with Foulkes. His stories were so wild and unlikely that Will was very inclined to believe he was lying.… But what if he wasn't? Outrageous as his tales were, what if they really were true? Could will risk it? He didn't know. But he doubted, for whenever he demanded more logical reasoning and purpose he was denied it. What was Foulkes trying to hide?

These were the things that were traveling wildly through Will's rampant mind as he sat, perched on the ship's prow, beside the bowsprit, holding firmly to the ship with one hand, and clutching the hilt of a sword in the other. He was armed, as were the men, and the Governor had been locked away in the safety (of a kind) of the captain's quarters. They were going to fight.

At first Will had had trouble spotting the _Pearl_. But after a few minutes of scanning the waving mass of water before him, he was able to spot her. Riding down one swell and then up another, the black galleon would disappear and reappear as they alternated between the waves' troughs and crests. She was distant, only just maintaining the shape of a ship she was so far and blurred by the rain, mist and darkness about them.

Time passed by unnoticed to Will. Whether hours or minutes or even days had gone by he stopped a given time to think about. It was so dark that he could not tell in the first place. But he also paid little heed to anything but the ship before them.

His stomach churned uncomfortably from nerves far more than sickness and he clutched his sword tighter when the _Pearl_ disappeared from sight and even more uneasiness took hold of him when, several minutes later, rumbles distinctly different from thunder reached his ears: cannon fire. Would the _Black Pearl_ open fire on them?

Though the wind died away, the rain slowed to a patter before stopping altogether and the clouds began to part overhead, revealing a sun just barely peeking over the horizon of another evening; the waves had grown to become ridiculously enormous. Like bluffs and mountains forming and dropping flat. They were so large, in fact, that the topsail schooner seemed a petty row boat in the midst of the deep water. For the _Predator_ could be picked up from underneath by a wave and then ride down the water with a wicked rush– like a run-away cart with no donkey dashing down the side of a steep hill.

_Ba-boom_. _Boom_.…

Cannons roared in the distance, the sound so low that it seemed to strike Will at the heart and cause his chest to vibrate from the inside out until they took a short interval of silence. As the ship was brought to the crest of a swell, Will spotted smoke rising above another wave in the distance and he frowned. Who would the _Pearl_ be fighting with? It wasn't Norrington, was it? No, he couldn't have come so soon.

_Ba-da-da-BOOM!_

Several went off in a chain of shots, their shots ringing behind them in an echo speeding out over the ocean. It was louder this time. They were closer. Will shifted his position to more of a crouch as he thought of this– they may have had the need to fight.

The waves began to calm more, and the ocean began to even out…but not before taking the Predator up one more large swell, giving Will one of the shocks of his life. His jaw fell open and his lips parted in surprise as he saw not one but _two_ _Black Pearl_s, and both their cannons were bursting forth in furious retaliation– at each other.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Oh! Oh no! More cliffhanging! Sorry, but guess what! The next chapter should be some fun. Fight scenes- er- chapters (I've been on the stage too long!) are way stressful, I hope to make it good.Heh, heh. 

This has taken a lot longer to write than I expected becausemy school isdoing a production of"The Scarlet Pimpernel" and I've had to be at practices in the pit that go from right after school to five o'clock (last night it went on to 11 pm)and today I had to choreograph the fencing scene betweenChauvelin and Percy so I ended up staying there for a total of... six and a half hours. Whoo! So there's my excuse. Sorry about that guys- theater people can be very busy...

**CrAzY Pigwidgeon- **Okay, if last updated held the blade of the guillotine, hopefully this one will do so as well. Man, you a such a great reviewer! Never miss a chapter!

**Eledhwen-** Gah! (Slaps forehead.) Man, do I feel _stupid_! I loved the story of Túrin! ... I need to read that... again. Your comments have been wonderful and I'd love it if you continue to contribute. I very much like your work as well.

**Nuriel**- Yay! A newcomer! I'm glad you think I did Jack well... I thought that I just barely missed the mark, but... whatever! Hope you like what's to come for him and all the characters. Glad you like the cliffhangers... Yeah. And don't be afraid to write. If you feel your story isn't up to snuff then let it sit for while before coming back to it- that usually helps. And practice really does make perfect. AND yes, "Finding Neverland" was fantastic. Glad we agree on that.

**Rainyaviel**- Yay! Another newcomer! Welcome, welcome, a thousand times: Welcome! And _thank you _for reviewing! I wish people would do so more often. I'm glad you like my story and hope that this chapter was to your liking and that its cliffhanger also drove you crazy... to a reasonable point. '

**Williz-** You made me smile again! Luv, if you liked Will getting in the rigging to save Briggot, wait till you see what I've got coming up! ... Whoo, this is going to be fun! Hope that me killing off Briggot doesn't make you angry... I don't know how much people like him, so...

This next chapter is all laid out. I hope that you like it and that this one was monotonous- it was kind of filler and the next ones will kind of be filler too. They're kind of like the scenes with Elizabeth and Barbossa on the _Pearl_ in "Curse of the Black Pearl" or Will talking with Mr. Gibbs on the _Interceptor_. You learn a lot so the story makes sense before it picks up. But it shouldn't get real slow- next scene- argh! _chapter_- is an action chapter. The last for a while, in fact. So... yeah.

I've got swords, fencing and all this theater slang running through my head incessantly, so I'm closing this now. Okay? Review! See ya!

Jack E.

OH! P.S!

If you see any mistakes don't be afraid to tell me! I _hate_ typos and have this dire need to fix them so let me know so its possible! (Kindly, mind you. Wink, wink.) Thanks guys, you're great!

Jack E.


	10. Sea Dogs and Jack Tars

**Chapter 9  
**"_Sea Dogs and Jack Tars"_

The _Black Pearl_ was definitely a pearl and a rare gem among ocean vessels, the fear and partial desire of every reasonable seaman's heart. Black as midnight from her keel to the tips of her masts and bowsprit, she held the advantage of invisibility when under the cloak of darkness. She was large and hefty, and yet inexplicably swift beyond comparison; there was no other ship like her in the Caribbean– in the world, even. Not since Bootstrap Bill and Jack Sparrow sunk _The Abyss_. Having traveled to all four corners of the earth, Jack Sparrow would've been one to know such. But, somehow, _The Abyss_ had returned… and she brought hell to pay.

Jack had fought many a challenging battle in his lifetime. For some of them he had the scars to prove it, some of them gave him no scars and others gave him scars of a kind that were not tangible nor apparent to any save those who knew him the best. This battle, though it held potential to scar him like any other, this one was bound to go down in his books as a significantly large bump in the usually smooth path of his life. And not even he could tell exactly why. Somehow he just knew that it would start another strange event into its happening.

The only ship that could defy the _Black Pearl_ would have her in a tight spot. Too tight for Jack's liking. The last time he had fought _The Abyss,_ she had been challenge enough– the _Black Pearl _had barely made it out in one piece and it was only because of Bootstrap's expertise on ships that they were able to figure out a clever plan. And it was nothing short of disheartening to recall that _The Abyss_ had been in the hands of ridiculously inexperienced sailors at that time. The men Jack now fought, he soon came to realize, were far from unversed ninnies. In fact, they had quite a large and heaping serving of know-how hefted to them and it made a frown crease in his brow. If it had been challenging then, then it would be horrendously difficult now. It was a good thing Jack had also learned more as well, over the years. Much, much more. Though he had a crew of handsomely well versed gentlemen– with, of course, a pair of lasses worth twice their salt– and a mind filled with experience and ideas to challenge a mad hatter, he hadn't a Bootstrap to save his skin again. He could only hope that ten years of trials could show their worth to him and make up for his missing figure. There was a lot he had to fill in for.

He flexed his fingers a bit, his sweaty skin sticking slightly to the smooth wood of the _Pearl_'s helm where he held it, as he lightly clicked his teeth together through closed lips in hard thought. Anyone looking on him would have seen a completely different Jack from the one that someone the day before would have known. A quiet intensity seemed to take hold of him– an intensity of thought. There was a part of Jack that suggested he was thinking all the time. His dark eyes were always bright with a guarded intelligence and with every little flicker and wink it was evident there was a calculating present. Connections between to distant objects were being formed; concoctions of distracting sights and sounds never to be expected; a section of his mind was always soaking up little details of things about him for whenever he may need them–whether it be as soon as possible for him or five years later. But this was different. A _part_ of him wasn't turning thoughts over in his mind– the whole of him was. Devoutly.

_The Abyss_ was very dangerous now. He'd have to sink her or risk being sunk, and he couldn't let that happen. Not to his beloved lady. But.…

'_We have your governor and the young gentleman in our care…_'

His brow furrowed and his mouth sunk low in a frown.

_The Abyss_ was very dangerous now. He'd have to sink her or risk being sunk and he couldn't let that happen. Not to his beloved lady. But Governor Swann was on _The Abyss_. And, to his chagrin and disadvantage… so was Will. To attack or sink the ship would very much be dangerous and even life-threatening for said prisoners.

But he especially couldn't go back on word given. Nor could he betray his friends. Especially friends long dead.

'_Don' worry, Bill. I'll get 'im back_.'

Jack knew very well that he had already pushed himself into a situation too far for pulling back. _The Abyss _and her captain already knew that Jack Sparrow was on their tail and were doing all within their power to avoid him and his ship. Possibly and surprisingly more powerful than the _Black Pearl_, the copy-ship was dangerous for all if placed in the wrong hands. And it most definitely was a threat to lives along the many coasts of the Spanish Main. That would not do at all.

Every possible inch of canvas was at work in catching the wind and pulling Jack's loved ship along. He himself remained at the helm, shrugging off prods from a crew who insisted he go below and get some rest. They'd need someone who could catch them up the quickest, and only Jack could meld into the _Pearl_'s build the way he did, feeling the water's push and the winds pull more acutely than one might perceive. Despite their efforts, however, their opponent was a regrettably even match; every inch of canvas repeated as precisely as a déjàvu. And the gap between remained as constant and unchanging as the measure between two parallel lines.

Mr. Gibbs approached Jack for the umpteenth time in the last hour, his rough and yet kindly voice breathy with the sprint up towards the higher quarterdeck. His dark, greying hair was whipped about from the late storm that had crept by and he frowned despite his heavy breathing at Jack, concernedly. "Jack. Bes' be givin' it up, lad. That devil ship is sailin' with full sails and a bone in 'er teeth jus' as much as we be. She ain' no different. We'll ne'er catch 'er."

"Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Gibbs," Jack responded coolly as he turned eyes upward to peer at something aloft among the sails. "You never know whether somethin' works till you try it, do ye? Run out the sweeps an' we'll catch 'er in no time."

But Gibbs would have none of it. His eyes narrowed slightly as he shook his head in stubborn defiance and brought his stocky self as near to the captain as was necessary to speak in some form of solace. "I'll not be whistlin' psalms to the taffrail, Jack Sparrow. You listenin' to what I been tellin' ya? That ship's as alike to this one as my two hands are to each other. We run out the sweeps an' she'll do so too. We can't gain on 'er."

"An' how d'ye know tha'?" Jack returned with a lazy note. "Been aboard their ship, lately? 'ow d'ye know tha' we won' catch 'er?"

"She's just as same as us!"

"So?"

"Wha's the point!"

Jack frowned in a disappointed manner. "The point is, Joshamee, tha' despite our lack of knowledge, we hafta at least _try_ to catch the bloody demon. An' if tha' ain' possible, then I'll at least keep 'er in me sight till we've come up with a more reasonable plan to get a holda her!"

Joshamee shook his head, unsatisfied and grim, "I don't understand ye, Jack Sparrow. 'Tis a bloody fool's errand."

"Well, 'tis a very good thing tha' I'm not a fool then, ay?" Jack quipped with a smirk. Ah, he had heard this conversation many times afore.…

"Prove me wrong!" Joshamee barked. "What makes you think we'll be able to catch the bloody twin of the fastest ship in the Caribbean?"

He had darn well asked for it. The foreboding twinkle in tooth and eye, the wily grin. He had it coming and he realized it with a big, fat mental slap to the forehead before quickly jumping in to chop it off, "– wait, don't answer that. I know: you're Jack Sparrow."

Jack's grin widened before he turned and pointed towards _The Abyss_ with a grimy, ringed finger. "Aye," he acceded, "_Captain_ Jack Sparrow."

Gibbs brow frowned along with his mouth, ignoring the hand gesture. "Jack?"

"Hm?"

"Yeh use that way to much."

Jack's expression seemed unchanged. "So I've been told, but tha's not boun' to change it. An' you can forget 'bout those oars, mate."

Gibbs deepened his frown before he cast his eyes in the direction that Jack indicated. His frown quickly evolved as his eyebrows shot up, his eyeballs grew wide and his jaw tightened in surprise.

Amidst the greys and light pinks and oranges of the storm-kissed evening, _The Abyss_ stood as black and regal as her counterpart against the sea and sky. Sails full, lovely and defiant against a retreating horizon, it seemed that they were to chase her round about the globe till one surrendered or time came to a close. That is what it seemed…then, in a fluster of waves and sea spray, she clubhauled.

* * *

The _Black Pearl_ shuddered, her wood groaning lowly as she took a forcible blow from her sisterly opposition. Jack scowled inwardly and Gibbs growled in his throat, ever competitive. 

"We ain't gonna take that sorta bilge from the likes o' them!" the older man thundered, rousing the anger and indignation of the men darting about the decks around him and his captain in organized madness. The ship may have been Jack's lass, but– like unto Will's amour of Elizabeth as a lover and others being permitted to adore her as a friend at the same time– that didn't mean the crew loved her just as well. Though she was always and forever Jack's foremost, to an extent, she was all of theirs and they all would defend her from distress. Joshamee proceeded to lean over the ship's rail swiftly and cupped a hand about his mouth to help direct his upcoming willful command: "Give 'em hell, Ana! Fire all!"

The specter of a powerful female cry lost in the babel soon rose in reply– the only sign she had heard at all– followed by an angry, flashing eruption of the ship's guns, booming in spits of surprise and shivering an afterthought through the vessel's sturdy skeleton.

The men aboard _The Abyss_ coursed madly like hornets springing from their broken nest to find the one who knocked it down, and Jack set his jaw grimly as another set of shots popped from the rail guns fixed to his opponent's darkened deck, followed by a short, swift chain of cannon fire. He was loathe to admit it, but the _Pearl _couldn't take this much longer– she wasn't invincible, after all, just much harder to break than most other ships. He would have to think of something fast.

He jumped internally, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling sharply, as a loud _boom_ sliced through the air on the starboard side… opposite the side _The Abyss_ was already devilishly harassing.

Jutting his jaw to the side in an act of utter irritation, Jack took out his spyglass and, snapping it open, then bringing it swiftly to his eye– he zipped over and around the horizon until he located what he sought: another ship. And she was close. Ha! Where was his lookout? She was so close that Jack could make out the figures of her crew busying about their frantic work on the ship's deck. And she was traveling fast.

"Ana!"

A boom ensued followed by her fair voice responding. "Aye?"

"Inform the crew to make way– we've got company to be comin' aboard… an' not a moment too soon!"

Jack soon found himself to be proven right as a cry of dismay rose from one of his men and he spun about to see the pirates of _El Abismo _swiftly making their ways over the rails of his ship like the rapid contaminated water of a Caribbean island stream.

Jack cursed under his breath as he exchanged his spyglass for his cutlass. This was not to be tolerated. They would not take his ship from him. He'd fought too long and too hard for such a thing to happen. Ten years! Ten bloody endless years of sticking to the shadows, chewing his fist to remember that he couldn't just jump in and take – learning the true means of the phrases 'patience' and 'the opportune moment.' He'd gone near starving at some times. And the heat on his bloody island wasn't the only heat to taunt him– sun and fire were every inclined to follow him. Thirst had reached the point of pain many times. He'd been caught and imprisoned for occasions without count. And oh! if he could list the chases made for him! He could write a book on that alone! He'd been beaten. He'd been branded. He'd been the laughing stock of pirates the globe over. And he'd been lonely. To the point that rum and occasional retreats to Tortuga were the only things keeping him sane…enough. And now that had changed. For the first time in years he had his ship to sail. For the first time in years he'd gone on an adventure with someone at his side. For the first time in years he had food and drink to spare. For the first time in years he had the chance to challenge the horizon without worry. And for the first time he had friends. He'd get these braggarts to turn heel and run or die trying. No one would take that away again. Not his _Pearl_, not his freedom, not his friends. Not after so much.

Taking a firm grip on a bit of rigging, Jack hauled himself up onto the far rail and raised his cutlass high above his head, a distinct air of determination and direction about him. Behind him the west painted the greyish pink hues of the evening kissed with gold as a majestic backdrop, slightly silhouetting the outline of his form. A soft breeze rose from its course along the sea's surface and blew against his back, flutter his coat and dancing in his lavishly bedecked hair. His face was set hard and ready, and the sword in his hand gleamed like a silent beacon on a hill for those to whom he spoke to listen and heed.

"Alrigh' mates! These limey fools have dared to intrude on _Pearl_'s territory!" he bellowed, catching their attention firmly. One last echo of thunder from miles away whispered beneath his lingering words. "Now I say we show 'em how a man pays for such pernicious folly!"

"_Aye_!" came the hearty reply of an intermingled host of various voices, followed by cries of hope for triumph in the faces of their foes.

"Then le's give 'em what they should know wha's comin' to 'em, eh! Take what you can–"

"–_An' give nothin' back_ !"

All persons left their guns and pressingly went to their own collections of arms; drawing pistols, cutlasses, hatchets and bearing them at the ready. Within seconds, the two sides had begun to clash and the cries of battle were lost in the new cacophony of noise growing about them.

That had been a good while ago.

Now, the smell of sulphur stood prominently amongst the smoke, stinging the eyes to watery ruddiness and devilishly snaking down the throats and into the lungs of men– eating and burning acidly as it went. Sweat, tears and blood mingled and entwined before dropping to hit the dark decks of the interlocked vessels in tiny streams, rivers and pools of shimmering ruby, crimson and pink. Meshed with the booms of cannon fire were the cracks of breaking wood; the creaks of the shuddering ship beneath the feet of the sailors; the clangs of metal upon metal and the cries of roaring men rose in a cloud of din, dark and hovering like the smoke of the guns that contributed to the noise.

But Jack Sparrow's baritone voice rang over it all, "Hold fast, ye scurvy dogs! Hold fast!" urging his crew forward with courage and gusto. His usual drunken swagger was removed as a guise and supplanted with the true face of dark-eyed intelligence that dwelt beneath in undiscovered lingering until bidden to come forth. And when it came forth, Jack's besotted mask having been so real and his part so well-played, it came without warning or expectation, waylaying those fool enough to fall prey to the safety of believing him to be witless.

For he was far from witless.

He gritted his teeth and grunted as he set his foot upon the chest of the man he had just dispatchedfor a base of leverage, removing the firmly implanted blade of his sword. Thecorpse fell to the ground like a marionette whose strings had been cut by its puppeteer, forever to be inanimate. Sparrow rolled his right shoulder to loosen the stubborn rigidness that was beginning to wreathe his upper arm and lowerneck as he cast a frustrated gaze over _The Abyss_ into the horizon beyond and he frowned as he realized that the second ship he had been seeing wasn't an illusion and it had taken an interest in their little confrontation, heading in their direction. Curses! For how much longer could his luck hold!

"_Ahoy! _Black Pearl!"

Perhaps much longer than he had previously suspected. Jack turned his back on his enemy vesseland the distant shadower, and he brought to his face a sight that permitted him to give an overly-flourished salute with a simper as jaunty as his walk.

"Captain Jack Sparrow, as yeh might well already know, sir!" he introduced grandly to themerchant's ship."But now I am inclined as to know who might _you_ be!" He was forced to turn away for a moment and give a mad attacker a good plonk on the head with the pommel of his sword, dropping the rabidly-stupid man on the spot.

The brown-haired, ramrod-backed sailor curled his lips in a smirk so subtleit was nigh impossible to catch. There and gone in a flash, the bend in the lips disappeared,and the man cocked a lazy eyebrow. Hereturned the call in a voice cool as cucumber…with a hint of lemon for amusement.

"I, sir? Why, _Captain_ Sparrow! I would assume you to know the infamous Captain Green of the _Tradesmen's Trove_!"

"If you meant to say 'un-famous' rather than 'infamous,' then I'd have to agree with yeh there!" Jack bellowed in return, grinning to himself. "Never heard of yeh! What be your business snoopin' 'round my ship, _Captain Green_!"

'Green' gave a subtle shrug before extending his hands in a gesture that suggested Jack look his ship over once more. "You seem to be in need of some assistance!"

Jack narrowed his right eye, pressing his lips into a thin, subtle grin so as not to lose his comic air. "_May_-be," he half sing-songed.

The opposing captain's smirk returned in a more evident stroke as he rocked once on the balls of his feet, straightened his shoulders and locked his hands firmly-official behind his back. "Permission to come aboard?"

Jack gave a flowery bow, dipping low and flutteringthewrist of his raised hand.A roar and rushed footsteps sounded behind him, and he frowned with distaste towards the selfish interruption.However, any displeasure he held within was soon released by spinning about and smacking an approaching offender in the face with the flat of his fist, buying some more time.Thecaptainreturned his attentionto his 'new' associate, puffing out his chest, placing his right hand on his hip in a fist and gesticulating to his ship sweepingly with the other.

"Gladly!"

Unfortunately, any conversation that could have followed was cut short as the man knocked down with a bloody nose came to his senses;peeking through the tear-blurred vision of his ugly eyes, he gave Jack's unheeded ankles a weighing stare.

All 'Green' sawin the moments priorhis attempting torespond was Sparrow's grinning face and grand motion.Then his smile was abruptly wiped off; his arms went flying wild and grandas his feet suddenly flew out from under him and he landed on his back, behind the rail and out of sight.

The uppermost part of his back hit the deck with a painful thump, and, without thought, Jack'sfingers releasedthe hilt of his swordand let it scitter somewhere across the deck. He mouthed a large "Ouch!" and sent his hand flying to base of his neck to rub it vigorously as he cast darkly-lined eyes about for head or tail of his sword. He saw feet, booted, bare and in between. He spied wood, black and endless. And he saw swords but none were his. His eyes roving to and fro with no fortune in their search, hesoon found himself looking into the angry brown eyes of the pirate beside him, whose discolored teeth were grit with fury as his dirty, blood-trickled hand pinched the bridge of his besmudged nose.

Jack lifted and cocked his head to the side questioningly as his rubbing hand slowed its motion and his other hand came up, index and little fingerupto accent his point, asking, "Uh, haven't I met you before?"

The question, really, wasn't all the peculiar, for the face of thedirty scallywag did tickle the senses of an area at the very back of Jack's mind. Somewhere,some time, hisgoings-on had crossed with this man, he was sure.But he received no hint whatsoever. The man only growled deeply in his throat as a response, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

Jack furrowed his brow in perplexity. "No?"

The man growled louder–like a wild dingo over its territory.

Captain Sparrowresponded by dropping his hand and frowning with some measure of discouragement. "No." He had been almost certain that this face wasn't new, but buried in some passed memory. He didn't argue with the old tar, though. He simply shrugged and made to get up. "Well–guess I ought ta get goin' then–"

He _oomph_ed as suddenly his attacker was upon him. The pirate captain was pinned down by wide-eyed surprise for only a fraction of an instant before he clasped the man's biceps in his own, and, after a good wiggle here and there, managed to roll the two of them over as a whole.He wanted tobe on top.

"As I was sayin'–"

What he hadn't seen coming was that his opponent wasn't ignorant to this move, as it was really quite simple. Grabbing Jack's biceps in a crab-like grip as well,he repeated Jack's move, tumbling them head-over-heels so that he might have the advantage. But Jack Sparrow would not stand for that, and before long the two were rolling, rolling, rolling across the deck like an elongated human tumbleweed.

Hollow, wooden thunks along the ship's starboard rail announced the arrival of the_ Black Pearl_'s fresh and unprecedented allies.A mass of British sailors crossed wooden planks and swiftly boarded the _Black Pearl_ in a very efficient, swift and even orderly fashion. Soon their faded blues and browns were bleeding into the messy melee-ing mass of mariners, and the battle was brought to a new height with the fresh energy.

Mister Gibbs had been caught in a fix, locked in combat with a man who simply refused to go down– defiant against everything he threw at him. He was growing horrendously fatigued, his lungs burning with exertion, the sweat beginning the trickle into his eyes, when his opponent gasped suddenly and their fighting came to a pause. Gibbs looked at the man in confusion before noticing with high brows the ruddied silver tip of a blade protruding fromthe stranger'schest. He couldn't help but make a face. The blade withdrew with a disconcerting _schwelp _accompanied by its victim's weak last breath as he fell to the floor, revealing a rather tall brown-eyed man.

Laughter danced merrily in the man's eyes, though his face remained still with stern control, "Why, Master Joshamee, you've grown sloppy! I must say, such form would not be tolerated had you remained in the service."

He smirked briefly before withdrawing into the mass of chaos without giving the greyer man time to respond, save it be a very stuttered, "C-c-c-_commodore_?" as he stared after the bizarre surprise.

His fingers unconsciously went to the inside of his vest, fumbling for his flask, when his gaze was torn away by some dead weight ramming into his legs and causing him to shoot heels-over-head into the air. He smartingly kissed the deck with the base of his neck in a wild collision and sharp thump, his head banging thewood fiercely directly afterward in a macabre game of follow-the-leader.

He cursed loudly and profanely before swiftly scampering onto his belly to find the muttonhead responsible. He grit his teeth as he found it to be a _pair_ of muttonhead_s,_ rolling about like boys in a school yard fight, that were answerable to his pain.

"Damn it, Jack– ye swab!_ Quit foolin' around_!" he roared as loud as his lungs and stomach would permit him,whilst he propped himself up on his forearm and shook his fist in the air.

His cry was belched in vain, however, as Jack's ears were ringing profusely from the strange form of combat that he had inadvertently locked himself in. The rolling had sent his head spinning for a few confusing minutes before he managed to push the dizziness aside and get a grip on the things about him. Before he knew it, the rolling had become the manner in which the two opponents were attacking each other; throwing all their momentum into the power of the roll so as to ram their adversary as hard as they could into the next solid obstacle they hit. It proved effective, save a few faults that Jack was beginning to detest.

The slightly dizzy captain threw all his weight into the pitch and yaw of their tumbling, and they soon were rolling without vision of the world about them in the slightest. That is, until–

"_Oof_!" his opponent grunted as he managed to slam him good and hard into the ship's well-crafted bulkhead.

Jack grinned triumphantly, his teeth gleaming as they always did when he let a victorious, "_Ha_!" bark from his mouth.

The dog-like man gave another muttish snarl before turning things around– literally. Again they were rampaging across the ship's deck, toppling faster and faster and faster as they went. It was beginning to become very antagonizing for Jack. The bit of spine at the base of his neck and the shoulder that left the ground last were beginning to become very sore where the bone met the wood in nipping-quick rubbing motions. Gah, he was going to have some strange sores in those places! Faster and faster and faster they went and the world spun about more rapidly with each turn in a shapeless blur of dark colors. For the first time in many years of experience, Jack felt he just might let his stomach go as the distinct sensation of nausea settled within him.

Fortunately, he was saved from that fate;they were brought to an abrupt stop.

Unfortunately, he had to be faced with the sudden impression that he knew exactly what one of Will's swords felt like when it was caught between the anvil and a blow from one of the blacksmith's hammers.He was suddenly cracked against an uneven piece of vertical something, and his rib cage seemed to implode when the wind rushed out of him violently. His eyebrows shot sky high,he scrunched up his nose and opened his mouth wide in a silent scream of pain as he turned his saucer-sized eyeballs to the man whose arms he firmly clasped.

The man's grin of wicked relish seemed more of a sneer than anything else,exposing his teeth like some kind of animal and seeming to take great pleasure in Jack's abrupt and well-presented throe. He had a chuckle on the verge of emerging from its boiling pot in the back of his throat and his eyes were also wide–though with a mad delight–and he met Jack's bug-eyed gaze with his unique own.

They held that pose forsome seconds: the grimy man with greasy, yellow dreadlocks grinning with bared brown chompers andmadness gleaming in his eyes, and The Captain Jack Sparrowspeechless and frozen with pure pain writ in his face;his mouthas ajar as humanly possible without looking like a snake with its jaw unhooked. Thegrimyjack tarbreathed swiftly and unevenly as a demented chuckle began to slither out of his tightly-clamped mouth. Jack didn't breath at all.

Then things began to change.

"_Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhuh_,"Sparrow wheezed, every muscle in his face remaining frozen–except his eyebrows. His brows crept from sky-high to below-sea-level as theexpression in his eyes melted from ice cubes of cold pain to a scalding pot of anger. The man continued to chuckle, unchanging regardless of Jack's glare, and his gaze never flinched from the captains. His breath stank–even to Jack.

When air finally made the decision to return to Jack's forcefully deprived lungs, thecaptain slowly released his eyes from their large bearing, closed his mouth and bared his own teethto mirrorthe manwho hurthim.He himself growled like a mad dog of his own breed. Mad with actual insanity and genuineanger.

Then the rolling started again, with more madness and ferocity than every before.

The other men onboard the combat-locked ship didn't stand a chance when the mass ofmutt came plunging in their direction. They were mulled over like mud under carriage wheels as the two sea dogs rolled with all their might in order to smash their foe the hardest, each one wanting the last laugh as much as his opponent.

_Crack_! The _Abyss_ pirate was pinned to the bulkhead.

_Smash_! Sparrow was thrust upon a rather weak crate and demolished it with his back.

_Ba-da-dum_. Three men were heaved down on the deck, ran over as if they had been hit by a rampaging horse.

_Boom_! Sparrow managed to get himself rammed into the mainmast.

_Thud_! The opposing pirate rammed into the quarterdeck stairway.

The larger surroundingengagement was beginning to lose its momentum as the men involved began to become more wary of the rolling demons than they were of each other. The parting of the sea of people that the two managed could have made Moses proud, so swift and hearty was their work.

However, to Jack it was far from amusing. He was aching in a manner that suggested he was going to regret the whole thing ever the worse on the morrow. His rage was all but gone now and the nausea was making a determined attempt at coming back to supplant it. Someone's booted foot met his ribs as powerfully as it would havehad he been kicked. Yes, he had come to thoroughly detest the idea of using his own body as a weapon.It was enough.

They met the bulkhead in timing such that neither of them were pinned to it in a blow. Rather, Jack found himself in a position much the same to that of the one they started in– the grimy man pinning Jack to the ground with a snarl on his face like a foaming-mouthed canine.

Jack waggled about for a moment in an attempt the squirm free of the strange man's grasp (the sea rat hardly seemed affected by the spinning at all!);nevertheless,after his attempts were met with nothing but failure, Jack dropped his act andrelaxed for a moment before doing the first thing he could thing of: he released the mans biceps, took his face in both his hands and slammed his forehead as hard as he could against the other's.

The Sparrowsaw nothing but stars for what seemed like several minuteswhile an excruciating pain sliced through his head that no hangover could begin to compete with. A high-toned ringing pung in his ears as he shook his head and began to try to blink the stars and pretty colors away. Regardless of his current state of relative blindness, somehow Jack knew that the man only flinched upon impact and his effort had been useless. _Davy Jones_, but that man had to have a skull as thick as a pistol butt!

When he finally did regain his full perception, Jack mouthed a round "_Ow_!" Although his brains were quite rattled, he did his best to make a mental note: '_Never do that again_.'

The man began to laugh, and Jack sneered in return. Obviously, the fool had become used to theentertainingly idiotic and luck-borne image of Jack Sparrow. In some cases, the acceptance of this façade was fun and a kick in the pants for Jack. But there were some times and places where he needed it as a tool more than just a form of fun. He didn't always have the time to appreciate or tolerate such misguided rejoinders. Now was a good example of these cases; his patience was wearing thin.Seconds were too valuable to spend lightly in the midsts ofmelees like these. So Jack curled his legs up, bringing his knees to his chest…

'_Laugh all yeh want, mate_…'

…He placed the flat of his toes against the man's belly…

'…_but it ain' gonna do yeh any good_.'

…And he kicked his legs out with all the strength he had in him.

To his great satisfaction the man's eyes went wide with surprise before he released Jack's arms and was thrown off of the captain with a considerable amount of force Jack found to be gratifying. He landed on the deck beside Jack with a thud, his mouth agape as the wind speeding out of his widelyopen mouth refused to return.Sparrow smirked as he sat himself up,looking the man over with a satisfied air. He shook his head slowly, placing a mask of mock-sorrow onto his visage as he clucked his tongue slowly.

"Yeh know wha' mate? I feel yer pain." He smiled brightly before reaching over and patting the man on the head reassuringly, like a master to his cocker spaniel. "Easy, boy."

Reaching for the sky with two hands of splayed fingers, Jack rocked his way to sitting, scrambling to two booted feet and looking across the deck with an analytical eye. The battle was a bitter one. Amongst the variants of blacks, browns and whites, flashes of cold, calculating steel and scintillations of crimson blood caught his sight. The sun was beginning to dip lower behind the horizon's impenetrably opaque veil, and the sky to blanket over in consuming violets and royal blues. They wouldn't be able to keep fighting into the night. Not without a moon.

"Sparrow!"

Jack's attention was drawn swiftly to his right, where the commodore was locked in an engagement with two men at once, strugglingto keep his own. The pirate brigands took on a boorish, crude manner of fighting, swinging and slashing with only the objectives to maim andkill as quickly as possible. James shot Jackwith a rigid mienbeforecompletinga textbookparry and riposte. "Don't just stand there, you fool!" he barked with an added edge, "Make yourself useful!" In a rapid fluid motion, Norrington struck a sure cross-punch to one man, snapping his head up in a manner thatbought enough time to hastily slip the sword from his loosed, unguarded fingers and toss it to Jack. "Now!"

Captain Sparrow caught the sword and weighed it appraisingly in his right hand. He frowned with dissatisfaction and wrinkled his nose with a furrowed brow, "But this ain' my–"

Norrington ran the man he was fighting through at the waist, withdrawing his sword's bladeina new crimson light as two more men came to replace their fallen comrade. "Sparrow!"

The pirate sighed, dropping his hand to his waist and looking nonchalantly towards the heat of the battle. He opened his mouth to speak when he paused and began to squint at something off somewhere.…

A third man came to join in thesuddenly determined fracas against James. His patience had long been worn thin, and his anger threatened tobreak from his control. He couldn't hold it all together for much longer. "Blast it, Sparrow! What are you doing!"

Jack cast a blank eye on the distressed commodore for a moment, pausing with thoughtfully puckered lips. Then he began walking with a slink like a catstraight up to Norrington and his opponents, and tapped one pirate on the shoulder. "'scuse me?"

The man spun around and glaredwith eyes wild like a rabid dog and very, very familiar. Jack's eyebrows shot high and his mouth made a little 'o.' "Ah. So s'you, I see. This time I can say I've seen you before. We meet again."

It was very clear that the doggish manheldmuchmore interest in Jack than James, his eyes going savage and his face perking into a snarl as he growled lowly in his throat with denuded dentures. Clearly writ in his countenance, Jack was able to identify the want for retaliation to their previous venture; a personal grudge already firmly set in its place within the man's mind. Jack continued to speak as if this did not seem at all threatening or unusual.

"But," his voice was nonchalant and even cheerful, "I see there seems to be a bit of a misunderstandin' amongsts all this disorganization. Y'see," he grabbed the man by the shoulder and gestured at the commodore with his sword, "_tha_'smy frien'." The man growled more fiercely, as Jack walked pirate towards the rail with theambiance of a man strolling through the park with a good chum. "An', yeh see,I can' tolerate people pickin' on me mates, regardless o' the pain in the arse they can be. So m'gonna haftanecessitate you an' yer brethren 'ere to stop it.… Yeh really need to develop a better vocabulary, by the way, mate."

The man's grumble was cut off and the blow intended to come from his raised sword interrupted as the dirtied hand upon his shoulder jerked him back and he tumbled over the rail with a splash.

"'ope you can dog-paddle!" Jack bellowed after him.He was next spinning around and stepping into the fight the commodore was left with, striking at a man that had just managed to be thwarted from his attack. "May I cut in?"

"About bloody time," the commodore grunted as the tables were turned and thestrange newduo was placed on the offensive. "What in heaven's name were you doing? Watching the sunset?"

"No." Jack blocked in an attack and became locked in a sword-crossed battle of strength whenhis blade became pressed against and hisgaze locked upon his enemy's; though he still spoke efficiently with the high-ranking naval captain as he shuffled his feet and brought hiscompetitor in a rotation.

"What then?"Norrington spun in a fleet circle and thrusting all his momentum into the swing of his blade. It met his adversary's with a fierce bite and the pirate's crude blade shattered dangerously. The defeated man stared at the remaining stub of a blade and hilt left in his hand with dismayed eyes and a slack jaw. James wasted no time to revel in satisfaction. The man was felled with cold steel through his gut before he could begin to recover.

Suddenly, Jack's mouth dropped in repulsion and offense, and he gave a shove to his opponent that wasempowered enough byangerto cause the wretch to stumble backward over the rail, regardless of its distance.Then Sparrowmarched up to the commodore, his expression unchanging regardless of the fact that he had to look up or stand on his toes to meet the man's eyes, Norringtonbeing even taller than the whelp. And he poked an accusatory finger at the commodore's sternum. "You ruined my battle plan!" he hissed, "I was goin' t'do somethin' really genius!"

Norrington rolled his eyes upward with what Jack assumed to be a sigh, closed his eyes for a moment of vexation and then opened them again. "Please, Sparrow, don't make yourself more of an idiot than you already are," he replied with a lazy tone.A cool gaze wandered its way over Jack's lower crown and rested upon the battle, a rancorous reminder of where he was and his duty to the time.He tensedand rotated the bloodied sword in his sweaty hand. With a sharp and bitter tone he spoke through pursed lips, "The battle is not yet won. We must press on."

"Aye, but I fear there may be a probability that it jus' became more complicated and further from the poin' o' finishin'," replied with a serious gleam sparking from his eye.

Commodore Norrington narrowed suspicious eyes on the pirate captain. "Why?"

"Believe it or not, my dear sir,there is yet _another_ ship headed in our not-so-general direction."

"What?" came the bark.

Jack nodded grimly in return. "Aye, out yonder." And he pointed a ringed, grimy finger into therecedingdaylight out west, where a ship of no great size or build was making its way without a doubt to the fray.

James pursed his lips bleakly. "How do we know they're in it for the enemy? They look like any other group of petty pirates I've met before."

Jack pursed his lips bleaky, the humor in his gait draining swiftly away from his beatle-black eyes. "I've certain passed experiencescurios enough to rectify my insinuated conjecture, Commodore. An' even if I didn', I would recall tha'this 'ere _Abyss_ 'as been causin' some serious trouble an' givin' the _Black Pearl_ an even sourer name than that of Barbossa's reign. I wouldn' be surprised if tha' li'l ship o' petty pirates 'as a score to settle with 'er from afore– perhaps, even, once an' for all."

James' quirked in a slight furrow of thought.He would much rathertrust his own instincts and knowledge above Jack Sparrow's.Regardless ofhishidden amiable and rather intelligentnature, the man was still a pirate and dishonesty in any situation would be the least of his worries. Butlittlereflectionwas needed to bite the commodoreat his heels in a sharp reminder:he held very little useful information this time through.Assuch, he couldn't think through these tightpositions properly– successfully, even. But Jack Sparrow could. And if they wanted to make it out of this entire mess successfully, he would have to pass the mantle to him, forgetful to all of his previous biases. Realizing such, Jamesswallowed his pride with some measure of meekness and bowed his head once in quiet understanding. "So we best prepare for the worst."

"Precisely what I intended for yeh to pick up, Commodore. Now, in case you 'ave forgotten, there is a young lass waitin' for 'er young lad, an' _we_ are the ones 'o volunteered to go get 'im for 'er. I don' know 'bout you, bu' I'm not up to th'idea of lettin' 'er down."

Norrington looked over towards approaching threat out to sea and narrowed his eyes in thought. "What do you suppose we should do, then?"

Jack turned his own sight toward the ship no longer distant in the sunset, serious once more and speculative. "'ow would you feel 'bout splittin' up an' meetin' with some o' our boys on the other side?"

"Our motives are less obvious that way," James thought aloud in an agreeingmurmur. Hiscoffee eyes were already darting about the decks, searching for a swift path by which to go, clockwork evidently turning in his mind. They traced the same journey two times more before he once more looked upon the on-coming vessel that threatened to bring an advantage to theirviolent rivals. Dwelling there for a moment, he nodded as if to confirm something to himself and then returned his attention to Jack."Very well. If we work swiftly, we may be able to make a run for it before our mystery ship comes upon us. I shall see you on the other side. Till we meet again, then, Sparrow?"

Jack grinned, and even in the growing dark the silver and gold in his mouth glinted amongst their normal porcelain-like peers. "Aye. Till we meet again."

The commodore was off in a second's breath, his unusual costume of brown swiftly disappearing amongst the colors of a similarity. The brunt of the battle was taking place at the meeting of _The Abyss _and the _Black Pearl_, where ships were boundby ropes, planks and grappling hooks and men were bound by the red in their eyes. There wasnearly no sun's lightleft for illuminationwhatsoever, and a few of the lanterns on the ships were beginning to pop to life, bathing the ship in a cavorting orange radiancemingled thewith enlarged black shadow-puppetsprancing the dance of death on the screens of grey sails above. Walking into the heat of the battle as he twirled the sword in his hand, wishing for his own, Jack soon vanished into the thick of the grotesque play,his form leavingits ownlong dark shadow behind him.

* * *

Once his footsteps had faded and melted into the cacophony of sound that bespoke of the battle, a subtle stirring took place beneath the stairs to the ship's quarterdeck. Amongst yellow-orange hued canvas covered boxes and barrels of wood, the firelight reflected like light off a polished golden sculpture as a head with hair the hue of polishedstraw rose from its hiding spot amongst the ship provisions. 

Elizabeth set observant eyes on the lantern-lit melee with a firm jaw and stubborn expression, the scene's light and shadows reflecting in her amber eyes. She hadn't known whether or not Jack had heard her curse when she bumped her knee against something hard and angular she couldn't see, and she had been frightened for a moment that he and the commodore would discover her,locking away again without phantoms of thoughtsfor her protests. But she held her breath and, before long, the men departed to join in the action taking place.

Her fingers tightened around the hilt of Jack's cutlass as she chewed thoughtfully on her plump lower lip. She knew that taking Jack's sword could have gotten him into trouble and she felt guilty for swiping it away while he was too distracted with his tumbling contest. She had even been fearful that he would die because of his lack of a weapon, and that his blood would be on her head for the rest of her life. But she also knew that Jack Sparrow could find a way out of any tight situation: sword or no sword. So faith in his luck and daft way of living made her decide to take and wait for the opportune moment.

The young woman believed that that moment had finally come, with a bright and intelligent gleam coming to her eye. She could creep amongst the shadows, keeping to the edges of the fight, away from wayward eyes, and make her way onto _The Abyss _without too much trouble. The mimic-ship must have been cursed in some way, for the light bleeding from the lanterns did not touch her blackened mass. She was enveloped in some impenetrable shadow, immune to the glows of fire and perhaps starlight. Though the thought was slightly disquieting, Elizabeth took praise in it. After she made it to _The Abyss_ no one would see her slink below the decks and save Will. She could free him and be back on the _Black Pearl _before anyone had noticed her missing. She could do it.

She stood on shaky legs that felt loose and weak from their long period of crouching low to keep her hidden, one hand laid supportingly on a barrel, the other wiggling nervous digits in their hold of Jack's stolen sword. She could see the grey of a smaller ship's white sail, coming to stand alongside _The Abyss_ in the distance. What if they saw her? If she didn't act soon, then she would get caught by the men boardingthat side of the ship. She needed to act swiftly, to will herself to go despite the fear that was beginning to thunder in her breast. Had Will taught her enough to hold her own against these creatures? Would she freeze in a moment of panic and terror? Would they kill her?

No. She wouldn't allow it. Because when Jack needed his help, Will was there. And he had been there for her when she thought no one would.

'_On our return to Port Royal, I granted you clemency and this is how you thank me? By throwing in your lot with him? He's a pirate!_'

'_And a good man. If all I have achieved here is that the hangman will earn two pairs of boots instead of one, so be it. At least my conscience will be clear._'

'_You forget your place, Turner._'

'_It's right here, between you and Jack._'

So she would be there for him.

'_As is mine_.'

No pirates would stop her from that. She refused to be afraid of them. They weren't demons that lost all signs of humanity when placed under a frigid moon anymore. That nightmare had passed. They were men, and she would dispatch of them as best as she could– giving her all, giving her best. It was all she could do and it was what was most important.

She closed her eyes and willed her heart to stop beating so fiercely, for her breath to steady, her to be prepared, her body to be strong. She could not afford to have her courage fail her. Too much was at stake to be lost.

She was taking her first careful steps towards the battle, and though the bloodshed rose loud and wild, every step she took thundered prominently through her bosom and without her head. Nervous glances were flashed to the chaos repeatedly in worry that, this time, someone had her movements, and she had to continually chide herself for doing so. Time was being waste, and the sounds weren't as loud as they seemed. Regardless, she was growing heightenedly tense with anxiety.

Elizabeth kept to the outer bulkhead of Jack's cabin, pressing herself as best as she could to its protecting shade. Roars of rage and cries of pain yipped amongst the pops and clangs of thepandemonium she approached. Her pulse began to throb fiercely again at her temples and her heart pounded against her ribcage till it ached dully. She realized she was shaking ferociously, her knees weak and her feet like ice in their slightly over-sized footwear; and she cursed herself for her cowardice as she walked. Clenching the sword in her hand so strongly causedher fingersto beginto ache sorely at their primary joints, but her sweaty palm refused to let itself relax. The deck seemed unending and foreboding. Her eyes were glued, wide and apprehensive, on the battle that she was now adjacent to whilst her mind gave heed to the feel oftheship about her feet. She wondered whether it would be wiser togo to herknees and crawl, forthe lanterns threatened to bring her presence to the attention of those slashing and tearing at the borders of the fight's heat.

Her hip bumped the ship's rail and she paused.Elizabeth glanced all about her in swift caution, to assure herself no eyes would catch her upcoming movement. To draw attention could prove to be disastrous, and the possible outcomes were many and grim. Faces were focused on faces, dark, snarling, some even fearful. But none seemed to wander beyond the boundaries of light and shadow. Shakily, she tucked the snatched cutlass into her belt, and placed two cold hands onto the smoothly painted rail. Glancing back again nervously at the mass of men, she placed one foot on the rail and followed it with the other, standing slowly and with trembling limbs. Her weight rocked from her unsettled legs, balance taking its time in coming to her assistance, flirting with her fate in its absence. Placing a placating hand on the cabin's bulkhead, she tore her gaze away from her feet and set it upon the rail across from her. Her legs steadied somewhat, courage beginning to build within her.

She heard a splash and looked down to see some men wrestling in the water. They struggled with each other, hands searching for hurt in their enemy and feet kick at each other as fiercely as possible. Suddenly, one managed to, pull his hand from the grip of the other's and his fingers were soon at the surprised foe's throat. There was a horrendous strained gagging as the choking man clutched at the other's arms, with one hand,theother hand disappearing beneath the water.Suddenly he lifted his plunged arm with a cold knife glinting in the lantern-lightflashing aspeedy movement.And then it was over. The choker's gripreleased his captive as his body moved to become nothing more than a floating corpse face-down and possibly forever lostin the midst ofthe black sea.

Returning her gaze to the rail, suddenly six feet seemed no more different that a fathom. It was greater than her own height, and she did not know if she could make such a jump. Always standing at ceremonies, dancing at balls, and crossing her ankles delicately whilst sitting at any place whatsoever,Elizabeth Swann'slegshad grownunused to activities that would now benefit her. After her childhood had been declared passed and gone, she was no longer permitted to climb trees or swim in the sea freely with friends as she once had. She didn't know how far she could jump any longer. Neither was she on flat ground. Elizabeth was standing on a ship's rail above a pot of angry cut throats– a ship that she was forbidden to be on, nonetheless.

She was very much tempted to step down and go back to her cabin. She was a fool for coming out here! She couldn't do anything– she was a genteel woman amongst seasoned sea dogs! She should go back.

A particularly loud blast rang out from the fray. A bark from Jack cut through the night, though she knew not what he was saying. Her grip tightened on the sword in her hand, her wits calming a bit as she did so. She wouldn't allow herself to steal that blade for no reason at all. She had caused Jack great danger in taking his most valuable weapon for the moment–she would make the most of that action, regardless of her fears. Tensing her legs up and closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and thrust herself forward.

Though she was moving forward, she felt like she was falling in a dream. She wished to see where she was going but found herself unable to pry her eyes open. The noises of the struggle raged on beside her and the splashing of the men below her seemed as ominous as hungry sharks. She didn't think she'd ever reach the other side. Just then, her toes met the slick wood of the opposite side. Her toes…and nothing else. Her feet slipped out from under her, due to her lack of support and she gasped as she began to fall. She thrust her arms out before her instinctively as her mind froze. She did not think or listen, she only saw and heard.

Suddenly her arms met the rail, just above the elbows. An act out of impulse, she snapped her forearms down and clutched the rail with all her might, pressing her breast against the vessel with all she had in her as her legs smashed themselves against the hull with a _clump_. She shook with trepidation. Every grunt in the battle, every angry splash in water seemed a discoverer of her presence coming to get her rid of. Her mind began to reawaken from its frozen shock and Elizabeth was soon struggling to pull herself up onto the deck, her feet scraping for absent support. She felt the thud of some body ram against the ship and began to panic, scurrying to find her way up. Her frantic strokes managed to edge her upward enough to lay her forearms against the wood and lean her weight against them as she wormed her legs up onto the other side of the ship. She wasted no time for sitting or waiting– she threw herself onto the ship's deck, tremoring with anticipation for the sound of feet hitting the deck to come after her.

No sound came, and terror began to pass. Her heart thundered in her ears as she began to pelt across the deck on her hands and knees towards the ship's companionway, keep low so that no one might look across from the _Pearl_ and spot her white sailor's shirt. She looked up and jumped with surprise. The little ship was seconds away from being ready board. She needed to run. Jumping to her feet she sprinted for the portal through which she might pass below decks to the brig, sword still clutched firmly in her hand.

She thought she heard someone behind her, the sound of boots on the hard deck, and she began to run faster. She had to plunge her hands out to stop her from running head-on into the door. She ran frantic fingers over the rough wood in search for the door's latch. She could clearly hear the footsteps of a booted person coming in her direction, and began to shudder as her fingers felt nothing but the flat planes of wood on the hatch. They were coming closer and Elizabeth thought she could make out a bit of labored breathing. Suddenly her fingers brushed something, and she thrust her hand in that direction. The latch! Dropping her sword she immediately began to fumble with it, getting it set properly in her hand. The whisper of a sword leaving a leather sheath rushed to her ears ominously as the boots came nearer. She pulled on the latch. The door did not move. It was locked!

She looked side to side frantically, finding no where to go on either side. She dropped her gaze to the floor and panicked at the thick obscurity below. Where was Jack's sword! It was too dark to see! She turned back to the door and began toying with it again, twisting it this way and that, hoping that she was just using it wrong.

The door came open of it own accord, and Elizabeth felt the color drain from her face as she was met by one of the last people she cared to see on earth ever again. Ugly yellow teeth gleamed sickly from behind chapped, dirty lips as the short greasy scoundrel smiled repulsively at her presence. And a voice that had often crept into her nightmares in the few weeks after her kidnaping was heard once more, unchanged and still a fright.

"Why, 'ello, Poppet. Fancy meetin' you 'ear!"

She wanted to scream, but she had no voice. She wished to strike, but she had no sword. So she ran. She turned and she ran the direction she came in blind desire to escape from her nightmares coming back to life. But escape was not an option. She ran without thought and soon met the owner of the boots behind her directly. He stank of lack of bathing and stale foods and giggled like a fool at her stumbling halt. Then his laugh stopped with a gasp.

"'ey! I know_ you_!"

She didn't need light to see the wooden eye implanted in his left socket– she could see it clearly through memory of the mind. The images reminded her of the poor man's lack of intelligence, and Elizabeth some measure of courage to face him. She punched him. Curling her hand into a hard fist and thrusting it at his nose with all her might, she punched him and ran as he howled with anger, hiding until she could get back the sword now bathed in the light of the open door.

"Pintel! She 'it me!"

"I know, ya fool! Fin' 'er before she gits away!"

* * *

**Author's Note:** You guys, I'm so sorry this one took so long. I really, really, really hope this one isn't uninteresting or slow or dumb.You have no idea how long it took just get figure out how I wanted to get this started. I had the images in my head, but the words refused to cooperate, so I was continuously typing and deleting, typing and deleting. You have no idea how many abandoned concepts I have, how many were deleted and labeled 'abandoned' but wormed back in anyway and how many things are still to come! Will hasn't made it aboard. Oy... I also apologize for it not being as long as I would have liked to give you guys for your patience. But I looked at my plot outline and if I don't stop here, then the chapter won't get another break for at least twelve more pages and I don't want to make you wait that long. School gets out in two weeks and then I'll be able to, hopefully, post faster and get new ideas. 

On a lighter note, who's been followin' the sequel's production! (Snaps uphand.) I'm so crossing my fingers for this one, you guys. Ted Elliot and Terry Rossio have never written a sequel before this, so I've hope that it will be very good. From what I know so far, I am pleased.

Finally, I need your guys' help. I've started this project for Maggie 'M.N.' Theis, in which I send her aThank You/We Miss You thingthat has the names of all the people who read and enjoyed her work. It doesn't matter what it was-- '_The Measure of a Man_' '_Perchance to Dream_' -- if you read _any_ of her work and liked it, I ask that you just e-mail me at and tell me you would like your name on the card. If you wish, you can also include a word or two of why you liked her work or a word of encouragement of any kind and I will include it, but it's optional. AND if you know of any persons who would like to participate-- spread the word. The lass had hundreds of reviews per fic, I know there are people that would like to let her know that she was appreciated. So... yeah.

P.S. When I am finished with this fic, I will probably go through it and fine-tune/rewrite sections. I won't change, necessarily, as much as I will just make them more lush and polish them up. There are sections I think are stingy and need some fixing. Anyway, on with the thankseses...

**Alex-stank**: Although you're review was really small, it made me laugh. Thanks for reviewing.

**CrAzYpigwidgeon:** I'm glad I freaked you out and that you forgot about the line around his waist. I consider that an accomplishment, 'cause I afraid that everyone would be, "Why's he drowning? He's still got that stupid rope tied around his waist." So, thank you for that.

**Eledhwen**: Let me breathe a bit... That whole section with Will was one I wanted tofeel almost visually striking in areas, and then also physically trying for the character. I'm glad that someone liked it.

**JeanieBeanie**: Lol! I wouldn't consider myself a "great author," luv. I'm always displeased with my work... which is why I'm going to go back and fix things when this is all done. I pale in comparison to many others, and I'm always keeping my eyes open and learning from the techniques of other truly great authors. The compliment was lovely, though. Made my day. And yes, I do agree that it's nice to have some quality authors about. There are some good ones around here, you just have to find them. (Wink)

**Kiss316: **Thank you! The prologue, for me, is one of the parts that I'm almost entirely pleased with. That one, thescene with Will in the water, the Murtogg/Mullroy scene (I'm not sure why... I just liked it!), and some moments when I feel a sentence or piece of dialogue comes close to what the character actually are. When I polish up the story, that section will go through very subtle changes.

**Nuriel:** Darlin', getting an agent and getting started is the hardest part of the business. It is a challenge from then on, yes, but if you study hard and let your passion for the art stay alive, you can be alright. It's a tough competition, and if you let your confidence and passion die, you'll never make it. Anyway, I'm glad you "thoroughly enjoyed" the last chapter and hope that this one didn't stink. I wish had more time to fix it up, but I've made you all wait enough.

**Quiet Infinity: **Yay! I'm so happy you liked the other chapter! You're review was very encouraging. Whenever I got down and said, "I can't do this," I pulled out my reviews, looked at what you guys had to say, and it was reviews like yours that made me say, "No, I can do this. I've got to." Thanks for your support and delightful reviews.

**Rainyaviel**: You know what? Fencing and sword fighting is a lot of fun, and when you just goof around with it-- even if you really haven't a clue what you're doin'-- it can be fun. Timing it to music is complicated. I should know. It especially bites when you get it timed right and then the music director says, "Okay, we're gonna play this faster" or "We're cuttin' this bit and adding this instead!" (Sighs and shakes head.) Sword fights in musicals are a nightmare to get right. But I love the final result. Especially when it has something likea guillotine climax. Oh yeah. I hope that you don't hate my guts for taking so long... I really tried hard to update as soon as possible. Life is crazy, you know?

**Smithy**: I really appreciated the compliments you gave for my approach to Will. I'm always kicking myself to make him BETTER and it's nice to know that some people like what I've done so far, even when I do not entirely. Thank You.

**Unplugged32**: I was thrilled when I got your review! I '_The Darkest Hour_' and am very honored to know that you somewhat enjoy my work as well. Keep writing and I will too, 'kay? Thanks for your review.

Thank you all for your kind words. There've been moments where I've become very discouraged with my work, but your reviews remind me that some people don't think so low of it and I feel like I should keep going. Thanks so much. Next chapter will have more of the fight and then it _should_ lead to a chapter where things calm down a get a bit sorted out. Foulkes' true motivations and thoughts are revealed. Characters cross paths. We'll learn a bit more of Barbossa and stuff like that. Some three or four chapters down the road, there will be a revealing, in which the veil of mystery will begin to lift and make sense of things. The strange darkness that took Port Royal that first night, the behavior of the chest and what happened to Will, and what, exactly, the characters need to do this time around will be made known, though new questions may arise-- you never know.

After looking at the whole plot, I've come to a decision that I may want to change my fic's title. Something that can give a foreshadowing as to what's to come. If anyone opposes, just speak up and I'll note it. Thanks you guys!

Jack E.


	11. Déjà Vu Multiplié Par Deux

DISCLAIMER:_ I do not and will never own any of the characters or settings appearing in this chapter. They were conceived by Ted Elliot & Terry Rossio, Jay Wolpert and Stuart Beattie and are owned by Disney Enterprises, Inc. Some of the dialogue can be connected to the first film and, hence, is not mine but was inserted into the story to put connections between my story and the film. _

**Chapter 10  
**_'Déjà Vu Multiplié Par Deux'_

The sight had thrown Will over with astonishment and immediately a heavy rock of wintry foreboding had been dropped into the pits of his deepest inner workings. Something was amiss. A foul shiver had risen in between the layers of his skin, and he stood caught so soundly between spinning feelings he wasn't sure whether he feared this peculiar appearance or simply found it unusual. His nerves had grown raw and wild from lack of sleep, the reeling adrenaline of fleeing death and the shock of fatality abandoning his lure for the misfortune of another. _'Why are there two _Black Pearls_, Captain_?' he had demanded from Foulkes in a bout of some mix of foul emotions he could not identify. His mind felt as if it was being bound by illusions, and a hopeless feeling of confusion and misplacement gripped his heart so tightly he could do nothing but think on its discomfort and attempt to ease it. '_What is going on?_!'

Foulkes' features had been dour but well-guarded, and though his answer had been cool and collect, Will was far from contented with it: '_I had hoped you knew of this déjà vu, boy_—_ you let the rain fly.'_

Anger had clenched Will as tightly as his fingers viced the sword in his hand. The man had been ambiguous in word and aloof in appearance, refusing to grant him the answers he desired with an impertinent air of supremacy. '_What are you talking about_?'

'_Prepare yourself, Turner, with the boarding party_,' the captain replied as passively as birds fleeting by an open window. '_All available blades and fire power_—_ we will be engaging ourselves in a mess.'_

'_You deny me_—_ I want to know why_!' the young man yapped in unbridled impatience and astonishment. His irritation spiked as the older man did nothing but purse his lips and adjust the ship's course, nearly appearing as if he had heard nothing but the wind in the sails. William's restraint decimated and he grabbed the man's arm in an unmercifully strong clasp of his hands, turning the man to face him with a hiss, '_What are you hiding from me_?'

An instant of fear flickered within Foulkes' surprised blinking eyes, so swiftly that Will had thought he had dreamt it. But the man fixed his jaw, a cross and austere expression sweeping over his countenance as he set his eyes on the blacksmith. '_I said,' _his voice held an absolute no-nonsense tone, and though his rage diminished significantly, Will felt a silent pulse of anger begin to throb as the subtle click of a pistol met his ears— the second time he had been foolish enough to overlook the gun,_ 'Prepare yourself, Turner.'_

They had stood there for some seconds, bearing into each other's eyes in a battle of wills. Two pulses fought against each other at the point of Will's harsh clench as their sights melded with an electricity of contesting determinations. Had it just been the two of them in a match of minds alone, there could have been a stalemate in either man's chances. But the deadly craft of metal and wood that was clutched in the fingers of the pirate captain tipped the hand of the game to his favor, and Will was forced to ease the gripping of his angry fingers. Nevertheless, his gaze did not fall and it did not lose its luster.

Something about the rigid fashion in which Will moved, or something in the fire within his regard, might possibly have amused Foulkes, for he smirked over the barrel of his pistol as the boy reluctantly submitted to his bidding. He had spoken, with a soft but calculating utterance, '_You've got resolve, boy. Perhaps there is more of a reason you carry the name you do than you realize.'_

Said boy had only glared back in seething disquietude, his lips parting only for a moment before realizing he had nothing he wished to say, the taste of voiced argument having lost its flavor.

_'Now …__you would do well to obey my command. You will find the answer you seek sooner than you deem. Prepare yourself to board.'_

With a sword at his hip, a gun in his belt and a rope in his hand, Will repeatedly clenched and unclenched a fretful jaw as the _Predator_ prepared to line herself with the phantasm vessel of bewitched ebony. He had prepared, obeying with no small measure of reluctance and distaste. Anger and arguments still saturated his mind, reasons for why he should turn his back on the fight and leave Foulkes to whatever ridiculous business he held on the ship. But other stronger wiles bound him to his task. He wanted to get off of this horrid ship—if only for a moment. Perhaps he could find Jack.

He didn't wish to heed the warnings and ill tidings that Foulkes had borne of Jack. And he didn't care for the morbid tales of his father. '_Lies_,' his heart told him. '_They're all lies—they have to be_.' However doubt still hung at the back of his mind like smoke hovers above its fiery devastation. So little time had been spent between him and Jack—a man who was nothing more than an enigma to world—so sparse the time to become properly acquainted. Did he even know Jack really? Or was the man he thought he knew just another character that the real man portrayed in his complex play of life to hide behind? So many years had passed since he had seen his father, and he had been so young. Did he remember correctly? Did he see all that he needed to see? Had his father played a role as well? Had he changed? Could he be wrong and Foulkes be right?

"They have to be," he reassured himself softly. "Lies."

But were they really? Or was his heart unwilling to embrace the truth?

His stomach suddenly fluttered. The _Predator'_s creeping nature seemed magnified to a slowness nigh unbearable. Though the sails spoke of work and the wind, with its waves, roared of motion, the interlocked shadows of the two _Black Pearl_s and the merchant vessel seemed to grow no nearer—like a carrot hoisted from the harness of a trotting ass, dangling just within its scent and sight but beyond its reach. Time seemed as slow and weighted as a snail and the homely shell upon its back. Seconds felt like minutes and minutes were perceived as hours. The sun had fallen entirely behind the staunch shroud of the horizon, the sky's slightly lightened hue at its base the only clue of her presence having ever touched that part of the world. All else was enveloped in black-violet, immense and deep—the orange glow of numerous lanterns fighting violently to avoid suffocation from the darkness. The sounds of death's feast carried swiftly from its table over the now-calm water's edge. And the wicks of the lights aboard the clashing ships raged ferociously, making the dancing shadows playing amongst her sails large and visible to eyes far beyond the range of any gun: morbid, bleak and mesmerizing.

The _Predator_ was no longer far across the water's edge—it was nearing the battle, minutes—maybe seconds— from boarding into the fray. While the hypnotic synchronization of fire and shadow glimmered and swerved about the sails of two ships, glowing brightly in what normally was mirth rather than an anecdote of death, the dark silhouette of a third ship remained cloaked in an obscurity that seemed abysmal and unearthly. The fingers of the lantern fire stretched and groped for her, but the vast darkness about it seemed to swallow them up or cut them off from its substance entirely. Without seeing her in the sun minutes before, Will probably wouldn't have noticed her, beholding the ship to be a shadow of the galleon behind instead—a galleon that she seemed to be an exact copy of in a shape that seemed all too familiar.

And, through the insatiable black, Will Turner thought he saw shadows of shapes no less familiar wandering her sinister decks with golden light—a singular remarkable exception—spilling from the open companionway. He crouched behind the rail to hide himself, peering over its roughened wood to establish when to make ready to board. The ropes in the rigging swayed gently as the only two shapes he could pick out met and he began hear their hushed voices as they huddled together to exchange a conversation. A flash of white caught his eyes for an instant—another pirate. He frowned, realizing that boarding could be foolhardy. There could be several hidden about in the unnatural darkness that had smothered the ship. And, surely, they weren't foolish enough to ignore the fact that another ship was upon them. He pricked his ears for a bit of their exchange.

"…_ta lure._"

"_Where should I look_?"

"_In the shadows. There're good hidin' spots there. You take the starboard side_."

"_Should we be tellin' Foulkes?_"

"_He has other business_…"

'_Foulkes_?' Will ceased breathing for a brief instant. Foulkes had said that the chest bore some strange power to render its victims helpless, and that this power had left some ill effect on the _Black Pearl_. He, Will Turner, had been taken helpless by a vast darkness when he had been confronted in the brig of the _Predator_. Had Foulkes been telling him the truth after all? Was the _Black Pearl_ really cursed once again? Was the darkness this ill effect? Strange flames of fire and ice began to battle his heart in despair and hope. Cutting and black, the foul words he had heard warred for dominion over himself with a suffocating hand. They made sense and taunted him with that fact. And though a tiny breath of life remained in his faith against the falsehoods that could lie beneath, it was growing weak. '_They're lies_…'

The hairs on the back of the blacksmith's neck prickled as a silent breath of wind kissed him. He suddenly realized how very still on the _Predator _it had become—nothing seemed to move, not even the ship itself; and the only sound he could hear was the soft swaying of lifeless things hanging from the timber overhead. He turned and looked behind him with a questioning eye to see no one where there had previously been everyone waiting like he for the moment to board. The wind ruffled his hair soundlessly once more and his stomach squirmed with nervousness as he turned his eyes back to the captain's quarters to see all lights gone out.

"_Now that's no way to greet an old friend; is it_?"

The sing-song voice cut through the silence as easily as an arrow through a sheet of paper. The men on the black ship were no longer conspiring with one another, but calling to someone. Will's attention became caught by them with no absence of astonishment. For, though slightly low with distance, their unique tones were both unmistakable and unforgettable to Will when they reached his ears. He didn't need any illuminations to see their faces—he could _smell _those disgusting wretches simply though his fantasy, their presences were so well engraved into his mind.

Pintel and his lethargic nephew, Ragetti—how could he ever forget those shambling idiots? They guarded him, watched his every move with sickly eyes, throughout the entire duration of his captivity under Hector Barbossa. And on the journey home aboard the _Dauntless,_ he had volunteered to bring them their share of bread and water every day. A small form of settling scores to simply be able to taunt them by holding it out of their grasp for several minutes when they had been starving for so long. It had given him some form of comfort to know that he had control over _something_ in the aftermath of the sleepless fright that had taken place: a time and place where he had felt like he had began to gain something in the world only to find everything he had was slipping from his fingers.

He had felt so lost. He hadn't known who he was, why he had made it out of the fray alive or why he had even gone for Elizabeth in the first place aside from the fact that the desire had burned within his bosom too hot to ignore. The news of her engagement to Commodore Norrington had been a powerful blow to his heart, regardless of the fact that he was used to such disappointment.

But what else had he been expecting? He knew that the two would end up together. From the beginning he had known, like every other living soul in Port Royal. Why had it shocked him so? Had he grown foolish enough to hope that he stood a chance at her hand simply because he had slipped her from Barbossa's clutches before anyone else? Had he been stupid enough to let the secret hope that _he_ could be with her grow to the point that his heart and head had received it as a valid dream—something that could actually happen? Did he believe that, maybe, just maybe, she might have some feelings for him beyond that of their friendly childhood bonds?

Perhaps. Or maybe the thought that she had accepted the proposal and hadn't been thrown into the marriage by her father stung him; the thought that maybe she actually had fallen in love with the commodore, and he, Will Turner, had never held even the smallest part of her heart in exchange for the whole of his own that she had possessed biting without mercy. And the fact that he knew she would marry Norrington was simply unable to soften the jolts that came andwere to come with just the thought. He loved her, undyingly and unconditionally, no matter how hard he had tried otherwise so as to avoid the inevitable heartache that was to come. And, just as he had told himself but refused to accept at some level, his love had been unrequited… Or so he had thought.

But how could this be? He remembered so vividly standing just out of the reach of their hands with the food and water held in an openly offering stance. He had taken pleasure in the petty form of power that came with it. Master Brown was a drunk and made him bear the unforgivable burden of all the work for the shop—and then, in the end, Master Brown never failed in receiving the credit, robbing Will of his ability to feel even a little bit of pride in his work. He did everything and no one realized, and he was too afraid to change it. He held no control. He loved Elizabeth. But, try as he might to turn his eyes and heart over to another, it refused to happen. No control. Additionally, the beautiful young woman was the governor's daughter, and he was naught but a blacksmith's apprentice. Denied and forbidden the chance to climb his way in class through the silent and cruel laws of society, he was trapped and unable to escape. His father had been a pirate. He had broken his promise and never returned when he promised he would come for him if ever he found himself in trouble. His father's blood had been what caused the disaster with Barbossa and what had branded and stranded him in the immovable position in poverty in which he had been ensnared in the first place. Had he had another man's blood then he wouldn't have had all the pain he did. But he couldn't choose his father. And once again he had absolutely no dream of any control. Except for that moment.

And then he remembered, after the clouds had parted and his life began to be flooded with light: Elizabeth loved him after all, as unabashedly as he loved her. She desired to marry him. Commodore Norrington had given a helping hand in getting ol' Brown out of his chair and to a place where he could quietly drink his way to his grave as he desired, and Will became the owner of his own shop and the realized maker of the works of smithied art that found their ways into the hands of some of Port Royal's finest gentlemen. The control that he had despised in lacking had somehow found its way into his hands and his life was actually beginning to change into something wonderful. Sowonderful that things that used todestroy his day were but trivial matters, things that could be shrugged off and forgotten as he went about his way.

And he _remembered_: Norrington saw all the pirates loyal to Captain Barbossa hanged within the month of their return to Port Royal. He held Elizabeth's hand as they somberly looked on, grateful that men with such cruel and black intentions could harm the innocent no more. Their bodies had displayed grotesquely in gibbets at the harbor's entrance as a piratical warning. At least, they had for a while. Their scaffolds, bare bones and all, had mysteriously disappeared several months later, never to be seen or heard of again. It had been deemed the act of some vengeful relation or acquaintance.

'_But then how…?_'

Will's stomach churned as the possibilities filled his mind: had they somehow managed to come back? Had they bargained with the Devil? Had the curse somehow contained an element that had been carelessly overlooked or forgotten? Were they even alive at all?

"_We know you're 'ere, Poppet. Come on out an' give us a kiss—an' maybe we'll let ya go free."_

"_Heh-heh, heh. Pretty Poppet…_"

The _Predator_ lurched softly as she came to a slow halt beside the large black galleon. But Will's attention remained on the _Black Pearl_ before him and his eyebrows rose with surprise. They were chasing a _woman_. What was a woman doing out on the sea with these villains? Was it Anamaria?

'_It's possible_,' his mind whispered. '_One or both of these vessels really is the _Black Pearl._ And she would be on the Black Pearl… and so would Jack._'

He unconsciously clenched his fists around the rope that still sat in his grasp as the same debate of truth and lies rose inside himself once again. He wanted, more than he could bear, for all the things that Foulkes had told him to be lies. But he wanted far, far more to simply know, truthfully, whether the strange man had been speaking honestly or falsely. That his mind could be put to rest. So many pieces of the tale fit perfectly with the things he had seen and heard—the things he was seeing and hearing— through his own experience. But so many other pieces were severely warped from what he thought he knew. Were his memories and beliefs false? Or had Foulkes been a clever liar? He needed to know. He needed to find Jack… and his father.

And to do that, he needed to get on that ship. But who was to go with him?

"_Foulkes_!" he spat softly across the empty deck of the _Predator_. "_Foulkes, you bloody coward; where the devil are you?_"

His only answer was the rain-like patter of gently ruffled sails and the sigh of the sea. Even the ship's creaking bones seemed to still themselves to a muteness Will had never known of a ship before. Not a soul was to be felt in his accompaniment. Another breath of wind caressed its way around his head in a gentle loop before flying to the stars. The young man clenched his jaw bitterly as he turned his eyes back to the black ship—Pintel and Ragetti seemed engrossed in searching for their quarry near the cabin, with a great bunch of shadows to their backs bundled by the bow. He smirked.

'_Fine!_,' he ruminated defiantly,'_You want me to do it myself, then I will! But don't be angry when my deeds are far from your liking…"_ And without a thought more on it, his sturdy arms hoisted him soundlessly onto the ship's rail. Glancing once more at the piratical pair, he launched his way into a silent path across the small space of sky.

* * *

She took the bolt while they were on the verge of arguing, hoping that the engrossed state resulting from their impish battle would distract them too far to pay heed to the patter of shoes treading as softly as they could upon a wooden plain in their great haste. Her heart was pounding so fiercely Elizabeth could have sworn that any one person could have glanced upon her and see the violent thumps disrupting her bosom. 

There was immediately a pointedly sudden and brought-about pause from the leader, Pintel, the moment her feet took flight, and she felt her heart cease its abuse of her breast in a change that felt as though it froze into a solid mass of ice, weighted, cold and still. She dove. Waiting within the shadows of a jumble of barrels and crates in a crouched position, her sternum heaved-to in painful stitches of breath that echoed and rang in her ears at an amplified volume promising to plague her with paranoia for the remainder of her days in their entirety, as she was certain that they could detect the sound for its loudness.

"_I said, 'shut up!' you fool!"_

_"Why should I, eh?"_

_"'cause I bloody heard somethin', you fool!"_ He shoved the taller pirate.

She gasped, expired heartily with a pang to the side, inhaled and held her breath. The warm sweat beading on her brow and mingling with the hair at her scalp suddenly seemed frigid as they clung to the skin of her face, neck and lower back like insects and liquid leeches. They had heard…

Ragetti's voice soon replied with a disgruntled air. "_Quit callin' me a fool, you… you…You…_"

It felt horribly rash and indescribably premature in a manner that left her certain she'd be discovered, but before she could command otherwise, her legs sprung from their curled position like a slingshot and she was off in the direction of the unguarded passage leading below, her mind bestilled with the terrified shock and surprise that had seized her at the unbidden action. She heard boots pounding on the deck and would have pressed forward with greater haste had she not passed through the surprisingly near opening, flown down the stairs and around a corner to hide behind more cargo and a support beam of the keel. She pressed herself against the dark wood of the vessel, waiting for her pursuers to pass over her hiding place as had happened once before… But they never came.

Rather, Pintel's voice tumbled in muted, muffled resonance down the passageway, angered and surprised, "_Why aren' choo…?_" His voice, starting high, faded into a low jumble of undecipherable murmurings that pricked Elizabeth's ears without her consent.

If there came a response, it had been too low to hear. A long pause ensued, allowing room for perplexity to sidle in on Elizabeth's part. Had they not seen her? Heard? Surely, they had! They must have! But, if that was so… Why were they not following? As her brow pricked in confusion, her breath began to still and the tips of her fingers began to radiate with warmth as she unclenched them from fists she had not realized she had formed. Her body began ease itself. Wondering what to do in venture of appeasing her puzzled mind, she began to peek her pretty head round the corner. Thoughts concerning returning to the hatch and peeking though its mouth had hardly begun to form enough in her mind in order to contest with her better judgement when—

"_No_!"

She was almost certain that her skeletonhad leapt in a complete detachment from her skin when the strangest sound exploded from above and took her by surprise—a cracking clang was the only terms she could have ever found to describe it. The deck above her head began to creak and thunder in what sounded like a furious scuffle.

A teeth-cracking screech ofmetal grating uponmeatl pierced from above into her gut and before she knew it the lanky figure of Ragetti came rumbling down the steep steps like a rag doll with bones, colliding with the deck in a mercilessly harsh meeting. She withdrew her head so speedily that the bump it made with a high-stacked barrel was unable to be hindered, and she was incapable to stop the perfidious wooden _dmp _that resounded from the wooden cask. She stopped herself in mid-gasp.

"'oo's there?"

Immediately her eyes began roving for a route to escape. Her heart began to beat upon her ribcage in terror as all she beheld were high stacks of barrels cutting off any places where there would have been passages to fly by. Unwittingly, she had trapped herself like a mouse in a corner without windows, and the cat was coming.

"I know you're there—I 'eard you... S'tha' you, Poppet?"

He began to take steps in her direction and she once again began to frantically search about her—this time for something she could use as mechanism of defense and hindrance, so that she might evade capture one last time. Her luck, it would appear, had run itself out, for all that met her sight were barrels and casks too large for her to lift or move in any manner. She curled herself into a fetal position and pressed herself against the load of barrels behind her by instinct, as if she believed that making herself smaller might increase the chances of him not seeing her. He began to cluck his tongue as he approached with uneven steps—limping, it would seem.

_Click-click-click-click-click_. "Poppet…" he called as if to a frightened rabbit. "I won' 'urt choo until Pintel tells me to. But e's not 'ere righ' now…" _Click-click-click-click-click_. The boards of the deck right around the mass of wood separating him from her groaned deeply. "C'm'ere, Poppet." _Click-click-click-click-click_. His shadow crept over the deck before her.

"_RAGETTI!_ _Git up 'ere you fool—I can' do this alone!_"

The shadow paused and stood still for what felt like eternity to Elizabeth, debating whether to heed to the upset and rather desperate voice of his comrade or pursue his own task. The ship swayed softly and with its gentle rocking the shadow would recede and tip forward, sparking enormous alarm into her bosom every time it did so, taunting her mind with the possibility that he himself could decide to move forward at any moment. He would come. He would come; she _knew_ that he would decide to come to find her!

"_Ra! Get! Ti! Come 'ERE!_"

The younger man made a guttural noise of disgust and shifted his weight before turning to go back towards the hatch. He faced back towards her hiding place suddenly, and Elizabeth's heart leapt high into the tight caverns of her throat. But he paused and after seeming to think it over for a second more he made his way back to the stairwell and up the hatch from whence he came. There was the creak of the boards, the heavily booted footsteps ascending and his presence melted into the miniature din that was taking place above.

The relief that washed over her was such that she felt as though she had melted and turned into a gelatin when her tense form relaxed its muscles.She sat there until her heart's erotic panics had calmed and the terror had passed with a sigh. Only then did Elizabeth clamor to her knees to crawl to the dividing curtain of cargo that veiled her from the view of the hatchway and peered around it and up through the hatch. The noise of the ostensible scuffle had grown more distant, but was still there.But neither figures nor tale of them were to be seen about the piece of deck visible to her eyes. They wereengaging elsewhere.

A smug grin pulled at the corner of her lips and a steeled fortitude coated her heart in a breastplate of valor, expelling all fear from her heart. She set her eyes to the second descending plane, and made for it with sure steps. This was the last stretch. Down those steps Will and her father would be waiting, and after she liberated them, they'd be free to return home and live life as they had desired.

She began to get light-heartedly excited and when her feet met the first step she flew down with a glow of sweet joy glimmering in her eye. This was it. "Will? Father?"

Her feet met the deck, and she turned to the brig with a broad smile… only to have it quickly slipped from her countenance. Many of the candles glowed as orange-embers at their wicks unburning, though a few held flames that were low, glittering their last laughs and casting strange shapes with shadows around the very dark compartment. The lanterns were burnt out, the guards slumped in a corner in a cataleptic state, slack-jawed and limp, and the door to an empty brig swung open wide and swaying subtly with the movements of the ship. Befuddlement piqued her brow, and her steps were stayed as she observed her environment once more—this time to assess rather than to simply see. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end in a warning that something was dreadfully amiss. If the prisoners had escaped, where were they and why did they not answer her call? The lack of true light and the creaking of the ship made her uneasy, her stomach squirming with discomfort and gooseflesh beginning to peck at her arms and legs. Perhaps it would be shrewd to look elsewhere… but not before calling out once more—just in case they hadn't been sure they had heard her voice.

She moistened her lips and took a step forward, her mind set to project her call just so. "Will?"

The ice that bled into every minute section of her being froze her mind and terror paralyzed her heart as a hand rougher and more callous than any inch of either of Will's coarsened hands clamped itself over her mouth and nose. It pulled her into the harsh grasp of a strong man, reeking of the sea and days without washing. She gasped forcefully and instantaneously began to pull and wrench at the iron grip, hysterically trying to make a get away. Then, placing a weather-worn cheek beside her ear, the one voice that had haunted and terrorized her more than any other in her brief history hissed with twisted delight into her ear as the man's other arm wrapped itself firmly about her waist and pressed her back to him whilst he began to recede into the shadows, taking her with him: "_Yes, dear_?"

William never heard his name called in darkness and desperation, and her scream fell on naught but deaf ears.

* * *

The girl wasn't ignorant to hiding places, that much was certain. She was a clever lass with an intelligent head on her shoulders resulting, probably, from her soft-hearted father allowing her to read or something of the sort. Pintel knew that they would find her, eventually, but his patience was swiftly wearing through its thin line, and he couldn't help grumbling. "Bleedin' wench is like a bleedin' mouse… You can't hide forever, Poppet!" 

"Yeah, Pop—"

There was a soft whisper of the swift movement of air and Pintel stuck out his arm in a signal for his comrade to stop. "Shh!"

"—pet! You can' hide—"

"_I said, 'shut up!' you fool!_" Pintel bayed impatiently.

At first he snapped his mouth shut, and obeyed. But soon deep shadows of discontent formed around Ragetti's chapped mouth, approaching a rare mood of intolerance for his companion's impetuous nature. He glared and demanded with no small measure of evident displeasure, "Why should I, eh?"

"'cause I bloody heard somethin', you fool!" Came the reply. He shoved the taller pirate. At least, he attempted to—the exertion only succeeded in making his comrade sway like a wheat stalk in a breeze and then straighten to an upright position just as quickly as he had faltered.

Ragetti stared at the shorter man, mouth agape with offended shock, before his face steadily narrowed in a new glower. "Quit callin' me a fool, you… you…" his face scrunched into a show of painful mental exertion. "You…"

Pintel rolled his eyes idly. "Righ'. Well, while yer thinkin' on tha' piece o' cunning, keep quiet an' 'elp me find the wench."

"You know, it really isn't nice to call ladies, 'wenches'—no matter how hard they bite."

The men stared at each other with questioning gazes, each wondering how in the world the other had managed to say that bit of nonsense without moving his lips, and with a different vocal tone and accent no less. Pintel raised both his eyes in question. Ragetti shook his head. Pintel cocked an eyebrow in skepticism and smirked. Ragetti shrugged his shoulders in an insistent gesture, then raised his eyebrows at Pintel to return the unspoken question.

"_Ahem._"

Both sets of brows fell and furrowed in an added measure of confusion before the frowning pair began to turn about and look towards the topmast. Surprise slapped them in the faces and laughed as they beheld a tall, dark-haired youth standing with a sword in hand and smirking through a blaze of dying-charcoal for eyes.

"You!" Pintel gasped.

Ragetti followed by looking persistently suspicious and confused. His question was asked with a careful and yet outrageous air as he tried to eye the man with his wooden eye, but only found himself roving said eye to see anything at all. "Why aren' choo in the brig?"

The young man chuckled, crossing his arms nonchalantly as his eyes flickered over their shoulders for an instant and than clicked back to them. "They're reserved for the dead… Or should I say _un_dead?"

Pintel's brows shot up in alarm. The boy knew! Automatically his hand flew to his pistol. The young man's eyes filled with dismay and his body tensed as swiftly as it could, but in a flash Pintel leveled the firearm at the boy, cocked it and moved to pull the trigger.

"_No_!"

A flash of steel came down from behind and battered the pistol barrel down just as the shot was fired. Pintel stood enraged, and spun about after glancing upon his piece with a bewildered eye, "What the devil—"

There was an angered face and then a fist flying out of space to impact with his nose. "_Look out_!" a voice broke through the ringing in his ears; a swift set of footsteps approached from the topmast and Ragetti grunted as he was thrown, stumbling, back and tumbled down the hatch.

* * *

Will was only able to think of sighing quickly in relief and gratitude before spotting the need to be the one to perform the rescuing. The gangly Ragetti bared his teeth in anger and raised his sword to bring it down upon the unidentified shadow-man, said man having overstepped a fierce punch thrown at Pintel's face and leaving his back half dangerously exposed. 

"Look out!" William charged, thrusting his shoulder with all his weight into Ragetti's profiled ribcage—a man of skin and bones, the move succeeded in plunging Ragetti down the hatch backwards with harsh thumps and grunts all the way down.

Glancing through the hatch found the pirate sprawled on the floor shaking the stars from the collision out of his eyes—a bit of extra time was in their hands, if only a few seconds. And a glance was all that could be afforded. He circled about to assess the fate of Pintel only to discover the short, fat man already making for the ship's starboard rail, waving his arms in the air to obtain the attention of allies on the second _Pearl_—the one untouched by the otherworldly shadow that smothered all light from without its bounds.

"Oy!" he cried, his voice sounding somewhat strained and slightly higher in pitch than normal as he managed to turn some shaggy heads to his direction, "'e's over 'ere! The whelp's out o' 'is cage!"

'_No_!' He was going to get them more trouble than they needed—he needed to be well and away from Foulkes' sight in order to speak with Jack and not be manipulated against his will to bring about unwanted harm.

"For the love of Davy Jones' mother, shut that idiot up!"

Will's head snapped to the yet unidentified personage formally standing beyond his peripheral vision, and though the night was dim with the thick enchanted darkness of the ship, the young man was able to receive a glimpse of face before its master began to bolt for the awry rebel—and a glimpse was all he needed to at least believe that the face he saw he knew to belong to none other than: "Commodore Norrington?"

James faltered in the rhythm of his steps only slightly before continuing as if hadn't heard the lad. However it soon became evident that the boy's questioning was heard not only by the staunch military commander, but by others as well. Pintel ceased his horrid imitation of a turkey before the slaughter and, spinning about so fast as to stumble backwards a few steps before a full halt was to be accomplished, his sickly yellow eyes bulged buggish at the realization that the man swiftly approaching him was, in fact, not another pirate of Jack Sparrow's allegiance but something possibly worse. "The Commodore?" he uttered in sober dismay and would have had something more to ramble in surprise but for erupting a large, gutty, "Ugh!" when the solid naval officer connected his shoulder to Pintel's pot belly. He was sent to the deck on his bottom, with a thump, a slide and a neat little 'o' for a mouth.

Leveling his footing, Norrington cast a disapproving glance toward Will, who narrowed his eyes in a questioning response to his gaze. His cool voice slid to the cups of Will's ears with an almost untraceable air of some strange tension, "Mister Turner, if you would please cease to be idle and assist me in the dispatch of these blaggards, then we can proceed to making aboard the _Pearl_ and being on our way before the reinforcements arrive."

"_RAGETTI!_ _Git up 'ere you fool—I can' do this alone!_" Pintel found his voice again.

Will opened his mouth to respond to the Commodore, but then with a dark look at the silhouettes jumping ship on the _Black Pearl_, thought better of it and clamped it shut with a mind to give his answer in action. A nod and a few steps towards Pintel with a risen sword stood his riposte. The Commodore returned the inclined gesture of his head with one of his own, before take a smooth pivot in the direction of Pintel with a blade as much at the ready as the one of the young man at his back.

Pintel squealed like a fatted pig and began making for a scramble as the two men made a lunge for him, supplanting the knowledge of the sword in his own hand with thoughts of the damage two swordsman of such supposedly-high repute were bound to inflict upon his body and already-bruised ego. "_Ra! Get! Ti! Come 'ERE!_"

James sighed, evidently disappointed at the now inevitable loss of their advantage in numbers, but then swiftly shot at Will his orders before turning back towards Pintel, with whom he had yet to reengage, "Take the scarecrow, Turner. I'll dispatch the other—and please try to be swift."

Will was permitted to nod before the disgruntled sound of frustrated booted feet began to stomp their way up the hatch and for the deck—here came Ragetti. The gawky corsair drug his feet onto the main deck and, with a severe frown, looked over the deck in a searching stare. "What d'ya want, Pintel? I was doin' somethin' very important!"

"I think he wants you to take care of me," Will found himself saying before he'd even thought to speak as a clang from behind told tale that the pirate and naval commander had managed to begin their bout, "but in my opinion, it can only manage to be the other way around."

Ragetti narrowed his eyes, quicker to respond than was usual for him. "Yeh'd be surprised, you spoiled brat."

Will cocked an eyebrow with an exaggerated air of amusement at Ragetti's expense. With a soft pop, his tongue unhinged itself from the roof of his mouth and he responded with a cross of his arms over his chest, "Spoiled, am I? Well, _I'm_ not the one who needed an entire island of gold and jewels to appease _my_ desires."

"Shut it, fool!" His hand flew to his belt and withdrew a well-concealed pistol. The muscles in Will's legs and arms instinctively tightened and he launched himself to his left just as a rip-roaring bang echoed through the shadows of oblivion, shaking his frame with surprise despite all the knowledge he had of its coming.

* * *

"Jack, look out!" 

A sharp clack exploded near Jack's ear with a slight swish of air as he relocated just in time to be passed up by a particularly large and rusty boarding axe that had embedded itself in the space of bulkhead beside him. Wide eyes narrowed as they roved over the weapon's evil blade and the large gash it cause in the ship's woody flesh. Someone was going to have a significantly lightener purse for that scrap of damage.

"_Jack_!"

His quick downward circumvention salvaged him from a profound smarting to the neck as the hefty sword that his current foe wielded met the bulkhead with massive impact. A quick somersault and he was sprung back on his feet, his sword coming up for an _en garde_ call.

The large black man bared ugly yellow teeth as he recovered from his staggering withdrawal of his sword, sickly eyes tapering to thin lines of odium. "You got lucky dat time, Sparrow," a smooth bass accent slid from dark lips.

A restricted smirk tugged at the corner of Jack's mouth, though the jauntiness was now gone from his step and a shadow cast itself upon his brow. "Well, my dear Bo'sun," he replied in a rough voice, "you should know by now that 'sfar more than luck tha' keeps a man alive—for, if I am correct in my thinking, you were swingin' high in Port Royal not long ago…and yet, here you are. Call that '_luck_,' do yeh?"

A dark grin formed on the man's face, "No—I call it '_fate_.'"

"Do yeh, now?"

The boatswain's response was an almighty swing of his large cutlass, slicing forth with a speed and power so great it seemed a blur in time. Jack jumped back onto his booted toes, sucking in his gut as the knifelike tip passed through the space which he had been standing in moments previous, then, lifting his sword above his head, cutting down fiercely for his contester. Their blades met in a screech that pierced the ears like a thousand needles forced upon their drums in droves. The bulky black man shoved Jack back into a staggering backpedal and extracted from the belt about his waist a small dagger. His arm withdrew over his head and snapped forward again so swiftly Jack hardly had time to register what to do. He launched himself sideways, falling for the deck with such benevolent timing he felt the detrimental projectile pass by his shoulder.

But a cry of agony from behind made him immediately desire he had thought of another option to execute. He hit the wood and flung himself up in an instant. Amid all the action Anamaria clutched at her wounded thigh with a deep grimace of agony and fell to the deck by means of strangled gasp. Her tan trousers began to leach with an ominous darkness spreading like a disease in a nauseatingly swift-growing radius from the golden gleam protruding at its center.

"Gibbs!"

"Leagues ahead of yeh, Cap'n! Cotton, Crimp! Get 'er up!"

A rumbling laugh broke through the din of shouts and clangs and fell over the deck, causing a hot tinge to flood under Jack's scalp—though his passive expression with a cocked-to eyebrow told no tale of such. "Didn' you know it's bad luck to 'ave a woman on board, _Captain_?" Bo'sun soughed before guffawing heartlessly once more and approaching Jack with an elevated cutting edge and malice in his watch. He lunged.

Jack dove through the man's widespread legs and popped up behind him. Putting a firm boot to his bottom, Jack shoved a kick with a heave-ho that sent the already unbalanced combatant skidding to the floor face-first. Bo'sun roared and jumped to his feet without a second to spare, turning back towards Jack with brimstone blistering in his eyes. He roared and enthusiastically reënaged in a furious bout of battle, hate functioning as his fuel. Thrusts, parries, ripostes and haphazard hacks and slashes without name winked and snarled at one another as the two men picked at each other with an aim for injury and anything greater. The interlocking engagement seemed to be at an even stalemate for the longest of times. Glares merged and melded but held no sway one over the other. Paces were matched, and agility exchanged for brute strength. But the large black man was far more massive than the scrawny corsair and the fact was that it was beginning to take its toll Jack. His limbs began to sting, his lungs to raze and his concentration to ebb away. It did not pass unnoticed to the bo'sun who soon managed to worm Jack into a corner. His upperhand was swiftly rising higher into the skies.

"You fool around with your life like it's a game, then you risk the chance of getting toyed with yourself, Sparrow. And those that'll play with you won't always be courteous to your necessities."

Suddenly, Jack threw down his weapon and bolted directly for the black Goliath in a grand crescendo, bellowing with all of his might.

"AHHHHHHHHHH!"

"What the—"

In a flash of flying colors the lanky pirate had all but thrown himself onto the towering corsair, wrapping his arms around his bald-shaven head and over his yellow-tinted eyes, cutting off his sight. So stunned was Bo'sun by this unorthodox method of confrontation that he immediately, instinctively, thrust down his sword and began to attempt to pry the pirate's arms from their lock around his head, stumbling about from the immediate strain that was rising in the back of his neck.

"Let _go_ you madcap buffoon! What do you think you are doing!"

Jack, his arms a vice about the larger pirate's neck as he made no move to reply, wriggled one leg up over the man's shoulder, pullingBo'sun's head down in a strenuously sharp angle. The big man's equilibrium tipped to the side and he began to stumble about, shouting strained curse words with a booming staccato. Suddenly, his prying fingers ceased their groping of his arms and one firm hand came to enclose his little bicep in a tight clasp. Assuming the man was just changing his grip, Jack began to cling tighter than an angry octopus at the man's head, only to be winded, not by the force of the blow alone but by surprise as well, when the giant's other fist collided with his lower ribcage like an iron grapefruit.

Another swift smite afflicted his side and what had potential to be a bruise alone suddenly felt like a fiery miasma crawling under his skin. Tears leapt into his eye-wells, flooding his vision to the point of no identity, like a bucket of liquid poured over a water-based painting. Instinctively he attempted to curl into a fetal position, but that only caused him grip more dastardly to the gargantuan's head. There was a brief pause. Then a punch to the kidneys followed and Jack yelped before he could even attempt to hold it back. He dropped his leg, and hooked it around the mainstay as the man began to pass it. The surprise of the halting jolt enraged the blind bull all the more.

"Let go of me! Let me go!"

Jack reached out with his other leg and hooked his toe as best as he could around the strong mast. The man grabbed him by both sides and began to pull Jack away from him. Slowly, the scrawny khol-eyed pirate managed to worm his leg around the mast and gain a better grip by hooking his ankles round each other once they met on the other side. He was completely and perfectly horizontal as the bo'sun was freed from his sightlessness and permitted to look at his adversary in the eyes, forehead-to-forehead at a perpendicular angle. He was enraged, exhausted and decidedly peeved with the significantly smaller and weaker man. Tired of prying and swinging at him with fruitless rewards and not patient enough to be persistent, he began to simply lean all his weight backwards, thinking to break the pirate's grip with the force of his body.

But the smaller one _was_ persistent. Several seconds went by in which both them concentrated on their steady approaches. Jack's shoulder and elbow joints began to rage like acid and feel dangerously feeble. He became aware that any person that desired to take a good whack at his spine had full power to, and he would be helpless to the blow. He moved his grip to around the big man's neck, and found himself cheek-to-cheek, none too awkwardly, with him. He grinned… cheekily… and finally, just when he just began to feel his shoulder begging to give, Bo'sun growled in his throat.

"Let _go_, dammit!"

Jack cast his eye-spheres downward and then rolled them up to look heavenward before giving as theatrical a sigh as was possible in his stretched pose and saying, with a reluctant air, "Would you be so kind as to do one thing as you go?"

The man snarled like a provoked lion and stubbornly continued his pulling, if not pulling all the more harshly. "Whatever, you bleeding idiot—just let go!"

Jack grunted as a distant throb began to issue from his endangered right shoulder. "Say, 'hello' to the sharks for me, aye?"

Bo'sun's grin faded swiftly. "Wha—"

Jack kept to his promised and let go of the man. The sudden removal of support from behind his neck completely coming out of the depths of the eternal blue, the man back-pedaled without any remote form of control and tipped over the side of the ship with a sizable splash in his wait.

Catching himself with the flat plains of his forearms, popping up to shake the kinks out of his body and then continuing the fighting was what Jack had envisioned himself doing. Forgetting to put his arms out in time and kissing the deck jaw-first was the reality. Heswore avidly in his mind as he brought himself to his knees and moved his jaw about in a testing procedure with his hand. No damage done. But a sizable bruise was going to match his still swollen eye. Gales, this was a dirty business. He reached beside him to pick up his sword…

…and began slapping the deck next to him with a searching hand when his fingers met nothing but wood. He brought his empty hand up to his gaze and splayed the fingers before him angry at its obvious emptiness. Not again! Where'd it go! A thoughtful worm cringed on his brow as he began to mentally retrace his footsteps. He'd been fighting Bo'sun not five minutes ago and had it in his hand—what was wrong with him today!

"_You ain' gettin' away, whelp! I'm gonna getchoo for tha'!_" Low brows plagued Jack Sparrow once more as he tilted his ear in the direction of the imposter _Pearl_, one cheek sucked into his mouth with a thoughtful mood. Giving his bearded chin a light touch with his index finger, the Sparrow turned about to peer over the rail of his ship and discover what was amiss on the dark vessel. Jack lifted his chin with his brows in pleased surprise when he peered over the rail to see and hear none other than Will Turner making his blade sing and flash against Ragetti's efforts. He hopped onto the starboard rail with his back facing Jack, his left hand gripping a line that faded somewhere into the blackness of the rigging above—it was too dark to be able to tell anything with a sure-fire amount of preciseness.

"_I imagine you shall—but I fear imagination doesn't justify reality in this case, Ragetti!_"

Something caught the boy's attention; he twisted about and craned his neck to peer behind and below himself, just in time to find a sizeable group of ingrates climbing up the ship's hull in answer to Pintel's previous alarm, some of which were only a foot or so from being able to reach young William's stockinged ankles. The boy pulled a strange face, a grimace of sorts with the corners of his mouth pulled low and outward and his eyebrows flexed low, before turning and giving the bit of rope below his hand a sound swat with his sword. Something obscured by the darkness of the ship fell from on high, and Will was pulled with the power of slingshot off the rail and up into the darkness by the running rigging, roars of outrage following him from the crew below.

"_We 'most 'ad 'im!" _

"_Now we gots ta go in tha riggin'!_"

'_Atta boy, Whelp._'

"Jack!"

Jack turned with to the jangling delight of his beads. Marty slid him a sword across the deck before turning to go about his own business. "They're comin' back up again!"

Jack reflexively scanned the deck for a status update at this bit of news, to find, with displeasured surprise, that his deck was by no means short when it came to the presence of foes. The _Pearl_'s crew and Norrington's men, however, were men of strength and valor, if not wrought with stubbornness, as they fought with bloodied hands denying the want to grip sides pinched with the exertion of battle and cradle the bites of sword, round and knife in their brief moments of rest. Gibbs and his accompanists had returned from escorting Ana to a place of shelter below decks, and were swiftly engaged in the task of relieving their fellow brethren of some of their battle burdens; Lieutenant Gillette, surprisingly enough, held a steady and deft sword when not confronted with undead skeletons and was able to dispatch many; some of the naval soldiers and pirates had even managed to team up and learn the value of watching out for what their surrounding allies could not…But the enemy seemed as endless a horde as when they were cursed, to the point that Jack began to wonder as he picked up his sword whether their wasn't some black magic assisting their hands. Their ship certainly was…

'_Well, there is, after all, only one way t'find out…_' He picked up the unfamiliar blade and, rising slowly, picked out the next man with whom he would engage. His eyes fell on the wily figure of Mallot. He flexed his fingers and toyed with the balance of the sword of his hand, he rocked back and forth and then shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, bouncing a bit to loosen up his knees. Rotating his shoulders a few times and cracking his neck, Jack was finally ready and, raising his sword, bolted for Mallot.

_Whapnck!_

Jack shook the glowing white and purple spots from his vision and found his balanceto prevent the happenstance in which heteetered to the side entirely and fell over. Shutting his eyes tightly and scrunching and loosening his face, his vision finally cleared as he gave his head one last shake and his eyes beheld the man he had run into doing things after the same fashion, face covered by a set of rough hands rubbing the collision spot on his forehead. The figure and the world about it rocked and swayed in a surprising amount and Jack stumbled a bit before locking his legs and refusing to act like he was drunk…. Or, at least, drunk_er _than he usually did. The man dropped his hands, the world having decided to stop riding a child's swing, and Jack was finally able to have his sights fall on a set of familiar deep brown eyes.

'_At last!_' Jack's face split into a wide grin and spread his arms with welcoming mirth. "Will! I've bumped into yeh at last!" Then he faltered and dropped his brows as he noticed something not quite right… "What happened to yer face, W—"

_Shmat_!

Jack grabbed his nose where the boy's fist had made sound contact as he made to right his stumbling. _"Ow_! What the _'ell_ was _tha'_ for, Wh—" His eyes darted to and fro as he found that the young blacksmith had somehowmelted backinto the chaos of the battle seamlessly. "Hey…where'd you go?"

"Miss me, _Cap_'_n_?" a bass voice sounded to Jack's left.

Jack looked just in time to see another angry blade flying for his body and snake out a curse before dropping to the floor and somersaulting back to his feet, facing a diabolically grinning Bo'sun. "Wha's wrong, Bo'sun," he piped as the black man dislodged his sword from the ebony rail, "sharks not interested in scum tonight?"

The bo' sun grinned. "No…they seem more interested in birds, Jack. So I promised them I'd bring them back a Sparrow."

Jack clucked his tongue with a sad shake of his head. "Don' make promises yeh can' keep, Bo—ah!" He wasn't precisely certain how it came to pass, but suddenly Jack Sparrow was hanging upside down, his ankle entwined in the snakish snare of a line Bo'sun employed from the rigging. The dark goliath stood with his hands at his belly, guffawing at Jack's surprise and outrage as the lanky captain began squirming energetically to make the rope round his lower leg let him go, to no avail.

After having had his laugh, Bo'sun straightened and grinned a gritty grin. "I know what promises I intend to keep, Jack Sparrow." He took a step towards Jack, his lips parted in a poised motion to speak.

"GET HIM!"

Joshamee and a half a dozen other men all but threw themselves atop the muscular mass, and Bo'sun was pulled away from Jack's view. Before Jack could rightly respond to the maneuver, there was a jerk and he was on his head at the ship's deck. A few seconds later, a rough but steady hand had clasped his and pulled the pirate to his feet. A swift hand—possibly the same one—dusted off his shoulders and arms in a hastily heavy but caring gesture.

"Alright, Jack?"

Jack blinked, confused. "Will?"

He didn't smile, but with a firm nod and a secure glimmer in his dark eyes the boy didn't need to to confirm Jack's query before turning and running off into the heat of battle with a friendly air. Perplexed, Jack stared after him, with his eyebrows skewed and wondering. What was going on?

"Jack!" The pirate turned eyes glazed with mental weariness to the swiftly approaching figure of Commodore Norrington. "Jack! Where's Turner?"

* * *

Will found himself flying once again from the torch lit decks of the _Black Pearl_ high up into her rigging. Pintel, Ragetti and their multitude of miscreants had set their teeth on following him, and he found he couldn't stay in one place long. The clouds in the firmament were growing thin and beginning to disperse themselves so that glimpses of the stars could be seen scattered throughout the sky, and the moon set a round circle aglow in their midst. 

The boy soon found himself scrambling onto a spar of what he believed to be the mizzen—he had run to the nearest mast, not truly caring which one it was. The wood and rope beneath his feet were slick from the recent rainfall, and Will began to have second thoughts as he spread his arms out in an instinctive reach for balance, preceeding to take swift steps toward the other side of the spar. Butterflies beat his belly at the increase in altitude, but his nerve was stayed by the becalmed waters and familiar phrase, '_Don't look down_.'

His intentions in dashing to such perilous heights had been to cut his trackers from off his tail, firstly by plunging them into a lethargic pace at the inevitable trepidation that they would be forced to come to terms with at the arrival of large distance from the ground. As he made it to the yard's center and placed a steadying hand on the mast for a brief moment a cuss from behind and below made him smirk and cast a quick glance over his shoulder.

"Aha!"

He turned his gaze back to pin it upon a greeting in the angry eyes of a pirate Will did not recognize cutting off his escape route, straightening from his scramble onboard the spar with a knife wedged between his ugly smiling teeth. "Goin' somewhere, boyo?"

Will's balance faltered in his surprise and he swayed with his arms a-flap as he pivoted in an about-face and began to go back the way he had come, his steps small but brisk and sure-footed once he rediscovered his center. His eyes focused on the spar beneath his feet, a prickling to the hairs on the back of his neck bid him look up. He suppressed a groan. There was Ragetti, one gangly leg swung onto the yardarm as he clung to the bit of footrope and reefed sail that was within his grasp. The pursuing group had split in half and come up on both sides, and now he would be forced to fight, surrender or jump.

'_Didn't think they were that smart…_'

"You can' run this time, Turner-rat!"

"We're gonna git choo!"

Tooth-knife lunged at him with hisdirk clutched in his left hand, poised for plunging and Will retreated, the wretch scratching the wood with his blade as he missed his target and was forced to make sure he didn't fall off the timber.Turner rose with shaky legs, and as he did so an image flashed before his memory: hopping from a parallel beam amongst the forge rafters to the one on which Will stood, Jack's balance wavered for an instant before he gained it back and grinned triumphantly… It seemed that lightning had enlivened his mind as Will's eyes flickered with clarity in determination and good humor. He had practiced his footwork among the rafters of his forge with vigor and ease in the past—this was not far from that! While Jack had taken some time to adjust to the balance—a man no doubt experienced in the rigging of ships—he had managed to keep his equilibrium with ease. Why was he struggling now?

'_The height_. _I need to not dwell on how high up I am_.'

The digits of his right hand clenched themselves briefly about the hilt of his sword as he focused. His fingers began to tingle and the sweat on his brow to thaw as he felt the unnatural repressive heat of his forge about him. He could envision the forge radiating below his toes before him, the main entrance behind his heels, the sunlight bleeding in through the loose construction of the structure. Salt and fish morphed into the tangs of fire, dust, metal, rum, animal feed and sweat; the creaks of ships exchanged for the murmur of people outside the walls, the crackle of the dying coals and Mister Brown's snoring. And though the truth remained huddled, but not unnoticed, in the back of his mind, his heart stilled itself and his blood calmed—it was simply time for another three hours of practice at the game. However, this time he had no intention to play fair.

Tooth-knife jumped for Will again, but this time a roar behind him betrayed that Ragetti was making his move as well. He drew his sword from its place at his belt. Letting his right foot slide and dangle off the spar, Will hunkered down on his left leg, going as low as it could take him with his left hand dipping beneath the beam and gripping the wet wood with sure fingers. He bowed forward, balancing on the beam with his left leg crouched beneath him. The move was so unusual that before the man could change his mind about running towards the young man he was all but atop him and Will had sprung his right side uplike a spring trap witha full pivot, picking Tooth-knife up on his back and launching him off the spar by flipping him head over heelsbefore he could shout. Now facing Ragetti, he brought his foot back onto the spar and his right arm forward in time to deflect a blow that would have taken his neck. A creak sounded behind him and he struck with the flat of the sword, making contact with a body that was now struggling to regain its balance. Ragetti swung at him again and he ducked, hearing a sharp smack and a gasp as whomever it was that had stood behind him was knocked out of the rigging by his one-eyed crewmate.

Ragetti bore down on him in a motion like unto an angry woodsman trying to split firewood, and Will sent up his blade to parry the attack with an angry screech of metal to metal. His feet soundly planted against the wood beneath them, Will locked his arms andthrust his weight up against Ragetti's blade with the strength of his legs, sending the man backwards into the three men that had followed him up.

He pivoted about to check for an attack from behind to find the familiar face of one Grapple snarling at him with his namesake weapon in hand. Will made a pinched face of disgust. This held promise to be difficult...hopefully the promise was false. He swung at Will, and Will riposted as best as he could against the giant hook.

"I thought that we had said good bye?"

The pirate snarled, lashing out another attack with his grapple. "You thought _wrong_!"

Will's parry lead to the interlock of their weapons, the ensnaring hook of the grapple sliding down the length of Will's blade until it kissed the hilt and the men were brought face-to-face in a fierce deadlock. "Alright," Will grunted. Grapple's thrust proved stronger, forcing Will to begin to lean back. "That may have been," Will adjusted his grip and pressing his weight forward, gained the advantage and pressed Grapple back into an upright position. "But can I make a suggestion?"

"What?" Grapple grunted as their pressures were brought to a stalemate.

Will suppressed the grin that threatened to take his lips. "Don't look down."

Grapple's countenance receded into blankness as he struggled with this information: whether or not he should give in to curiosity and peer below or heed his enemy's word. With a twitch of his inquisitive brow he relented and glanced down. Will slipped his hold on himself and let a grin slide onto his face as Grapple withdrew his advance and began teeter with eyes bugged wide, attached to the deck below.

Placing the flat of his sword to Grapples chest, Will shot a slightly apologetic glance to his foe. "Sorry…mate." A light press and the grimy man with shaven-head tipped over the side.

* * *

"There 'e is!" Jack pointed a bruised and bloodied finger towards the mizzenmast, where Will danced about the topsail amongst buccaneer foes attempting to take him from both sides, their shadows long and monstrous above all others against the glowing clouds in the sky. The captain shook his head, a serious light coming to his eyes as he muttered under his breath, "Actin' on 'is stupid intuition t' take things where e's mos' likely to snap 'is neck in two." 

James, having grabbed an opponent by the collar and swung him headlong into the hatch of the great cabin, knocking him out,shot Jack a perplexed look, wiping out of the way a loose strand of hair that was vexing him by sticking to his forehead, regards to his sweat. "Well, if that's Will Turner," he heaved a quick breath with a pange to his sides, pointing towards another man fighting amongst the din-horde, "then who on this side of the Caribbean is _that_?"

Norrington turned back towards to the shorter man to have his gaze meet a pair rimmed with surprising sobriety and solemnity. Jack's eyes twitched back and forth studiously as though he were attempting the read some hidden message within the commodore's facial flesh beforereplying with quietude, "I'm afraid to say."

For what felt like several minutes Commodore Norrington returned the Sparrow's gaze, his own mind roving with facts and whisperings he had seen and that he did not think to bring up on his own. Suddenly the energy of the spark of a sudden enlightenment electrified his mind with such intensity it seemed on the verge of physically jolting the frame of his body, and understanding possibility enlivened from within his eyes. A subtle smirk, though without mirth in his eyes, tugged at the lips of the sea brigand standing oppostie him as James parted his lips to speak. "That man's—"

There was a wild _wsh!_ and _bngk! _as flash of polished bronze and steel embedded itself in the wood of the great cabin hatch (much to Jack's loud displeasure). The next thing he knew was that Will Turner had gotten a hold of some line unidentifiable in the night and, taking it in a firm grip, had launched himself from the heights of the mast at the strange man whom he now realized had drawn a pistol aimed at Jack. By the time these facts had processed, bodies had collided and Will Turner was locked in a rolling wrestling match with the man along the deck. All activity seemed to slowly be brought to a standstill as eyes fell upon the duo and the silence began to be broken by naught but their grunts, bumps and the sigh of the sea. Suddenly Will, whom despite his lithe form was less slight than his opponent, brought the face-off to an abrupt halt as he managed to get his hands on the man's biceps and pin him firmly to the deck.

The only sounds stood the creaking of the ships, the hiss of the water and wind and the fierce panting of the two men who now commandeered the attention of all eyes gleaming in the growing darkness as the lanterns began to burn low. The world, the moon, the very clouds in the sky seemed to halt with bated breath as their eyes met and held each other for a strangely extended period of time. There was no cheer from either side.

Then the rustle of Will Turner's clothes shouted in the silence as he detachedly withdrew from the man beneath his grip, his eyes wide and gleaming under the veiled influence of the moon. It was not a gunshot, not the crack of breaking beams... buthis whisper which pierced the night:

"_Father_?"

* * *

**Next time:** The veil of mystery just begins to be lift as some questions are answered... and yet more are brought to life. Foulkes may be something differentfrom whatWill could have deemed, separated are reunited, intentions are made knownand the shadow begins to move as the banners are making to be revealed in '_To Each His Own Burgee._' 

**Author's Notes**: I can't explain how sorry I am that this had to take so long. Battle sequences are a pain in many places to write and coupled with writer's block it's a personal torture.( ...Okay, I admit, that the teaser trailer and all otherfootage, pictures etc. etc. etc. on the filming of the sequels has been somewhat distracting. I'vegotten so much information, I regret that I just admit it.)To compensate, I tried to make this chapter nice and _long_. I feel that much of the ending of this chapter was a bit blah, but I've got to get moving to the next one. I know there's a lot of things that start and then don't have an explanation in here--that's because they'll be explained in the next chapter or chapters to come. Don't worry.

Now (due to the new reply to review feature) the last of my reader responses to be attached to a chapter (I will reply to everyone, even if I've already done that):

**Eledhwen**: I tickles me silly to get reviews from your likes--I love 'Blood of Avalon.' A neat idea and well written indeed. Thanks for making me aware of the space-eating and don't be shy to reawaken me of that comes up again. This site drives me crazy in that way sometimes... And I'm glad to know that my fight sequence in the last chapter wasn't as cheesy as I thought it would be... I also hope that this one wasn't a repition of the last, when it comes to Jack leastways... I feel like I'm not doing him justice by giving him enough layers... he feels flat to me.

**JeanieBeanie33:** Now that you mention it I think it's true: the further away from the first film's release date we get, the harder it is to find good fics. All my favorites were written directly in the aftermath of the film. Most fics are very... blah now. I'm pleased to know you think mine is one of those 'good ones'. And I hope you located Measure... it's a fantastic read.

**Kelsey Estel:** Estel as in Aragron's fake name that Elrond gave him meaining, 'hope?' Or coincidence? Sorry. I'm a 'ringer.' Your review was such a morale booster! Thank you so much for your encouraging compliments about the plot's complexity--I'm trying to make it a bit less-than-simple so that it's fun to read. I'm glad someone appreciates that. Your criticism was helpful too, though I must admit I might be a bit loath to take the advise. Thank you so much, though, infinitesimally for giving a constructive review. That was magnificent. I hope this temporarily eased your ... er, 'torment.'

**Lin Zi Shou:** Yay! Yes, Karen, I've got it up at last! Thanks for being on my butt so I get it done--it actually helped me remember not to let it just sit and rot. I am so glad that you like this and am grateful for your support. In all serious, I mean it. I find it amusing, embarrassing but flattering that your mom thinks this is pretty good too... I think it's crap, but I like doing it.

**Ms Elizabeth Turner To You:** Lizzie, Lizze. I hope this doesn't disappoint you. Sorry there wasn't a bunch of Elizabeth in the chapter... she'll be coming, though, don't worry. I won't leave her fate untouched. I need to talk to you about some ideas I've got if we're going to do that project...

**Nuriel**: Thanks for keeping Rainyaviel aware. That's kind of you.

**PierceURlipz:** I was going to put another head-butt in here, but decided against it in the end. Makes the other a more rare gem. Elizabeth and Will can sometimes share that rash nature, but her instances are much more rare. Apparently, this is one of them.

**pirateoftherings:** It's always great to have a new reader on board. Thanks for your kind review and I hope I'll be able to keep you onboard a good ride.

**Rainyaviel**: It is hard and I'm glad you understand. As for the grammar...sometimes I break the rules on purpose. Other than that, it's usually I'm typing too fast or am not watching carefully enough when I proofread to catch all the glitches. I hate it when I go back and realize that I put a 'there' instead of 'their,' for example. I know the difference, but sometimes I just don't catch it and it drives me _crazy_. And I assure that this is far from flawless. It's quite bad, actually... I hope your Harry Potter fic is/was going well.

**Roguepirate**: I actually felt that the previous chapter was shallow, but I'm glad to find that you like it. I hope that 'something else' was entertaining... Probably was.

**Unplugged32:** I probably have already told you this, but I was ecstatic to know you read my story and liked it--I'm in love with 'The Darkest Hour' and was torn when you cut the last chapter off where you did! I've updated now it's your turn. I don't think my story is impressive or brilliant, but to find that you think it is so heartening. Thanks so much.

**Williz:** You still make me smile, luv. She ran... and you'll find out what happens to 'Beth in the next chapter. Sorry. I have a bad attachment to cliffhangers don't I? It's like '_Lost_' but not quite as bad... because '_Lost_' is so much better than this (I think so, leastways). I'm glad I 'REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY rock' in your eyes.

Thanks for all of your supports—I shall henceforth reply to reviews individually and officially declare these posted responses closed! I also hope that all the stuff that will begin to come out with_Dead Man's Chest_will help my writing instead of distracting me.(I'm am _so _psyched for this, you guys!) ...Although I can say that it will be a while before I get the next chapter up.

So, for now, ta!  
Jack E.


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